Another Day in the Life
by PerennialChild
Summary: Dean and Castiel are trapped in Purgatory, with some major things they need off their chests and their own survival to attend to. Sam, meanwhile, is encountering difficulties of his own. Namely God. Involves Satanism, a smattering of fictionalized physics, and a lot of soul-searching.
1. Chapter 1

Dean was terrified.

Of course, with _his_ lifestyle, that was par for the course. But usually fear could be covered up, effectively hidden with bluster, humor, and preferably a really _big_ gun.

This time, however, Dean didn't have a gun. In fact, he had nothing but the knife he'd used to behead the Leviathan, a pretty useless weapon now considering he had _no intention_ of engaging in close combat with the things surrounding him. And for one of the few times in his life, he was truly and well _alone_, left quite literally to the wolves by his best_ and only_ friend, in the darkness, and in a new dimension where he didn't know the rules.

His eyes roved over the landscape, trying to adjust to the lighting. All he could make out were the outlines of some trees, and glinting red eyes which flickered occasionally in the darkness, chilling the marrow in his bones. He didn't so much as twitch, fully realizing that _any_ movement, _any_ sound could give his position away, if the monsters didn't already know where he was.

_Every soul here is a monster. _And he'd helped put them here. Fear didn't even begin to cover it.

He heard a movement to his left, and tensed. He felt paralyzed with dread. _Whatifit'snothingwhatifitdidn'…_

Then…

A dizzying sensation, like being trapped in a Tilt-A-Whirl gone haywire. When Dean could feel his feet firmly on the ground again, he collapsed onto his knees and retched. Panic and angel-transport didn't mix, apparently. Angel transport meaning…

"Cas," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to rise. "What the hell?"

The angel regarded him blankly for a moment, before turning to survey their surroundings. As far as Dean could tell, they were the same as before. Dark and leafy. "I needed to find a safe area," Castiel said simply, taciturn as ever.

Dean understood, really he did. A horse runs faster without a rider, after all. A bad comparison, but… "Mind a little warning next time?" he huffed, not betraying his overwhelming relief to have his friend back at his side.

Castiel turned again to him, his expression as close as it ever came to looking exasperated. "There might not _be_ a next time, Dean. There isn't time for effective communication. There is a cave a little ways from here; I missed it the first time."

The angel advanced towards Dean, fingers brushing against his forehead, and Dean's stomach, for the second time, was left somewhere in the forests of Purgatory.

This time they hit rock. _Hit_ it. While Castiel managed to toss Dean more or less out of harm's way, he himself collided with the stone of the cave wall, and after a sickening thud, sank to the floor.

Dean ran over to check on him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean," the formerly crazy, now inexplicably lucid angel ground out. The side of his head was bleeding profusely. "I seem to be having difficulty maneuvering."

_No shit,_ Dean thought. Not like Captain Obvious ran into stone walls for _fun_. "Is your… is your mojo not working here? Is it Eve?" Because if Castiel didn't have his powers, they were well and truly screwed.

"I don't believe so. I would not have been able to do anything if that were the case," Castiel said, fixing Dean with his trademark, intense stare. Dean privately suspected that someone had once told the poor bastard that eye contact was integral to human conversation, with this result.

"What, then? Why're you malfunctioning?"

Castiel flinched imperceptibly at the word. "I am not malfunctioning. Purgatory is just made out of… "stronger stuff," you could say, than either Heaven or Earth. It was not made for the kind of movement that angels have. Or for escape."

So he had looked for a way out. Well, points for trying.

"In any case, I will adjust." Castiel looked so stubbornly determined at that moment that Dean grinned.

"That's you, Cas, adaptable as they get. So what," Dean said, almost laughing in spite of the severity of their situation," Are we gonna do with ourselves now?"

"Finding water and sustenance should be of prime importance right now," Castiel deadpanned.

He was slightly, but not very surprised when Dean blinked and said in a thoughtful tone that he thought finding suitable weapons and making fortifications would be the first order of business. Eventually they came to a compromise. Castiel suspected that any sources of water in Purgatory would operate much like a watering hole in the wild_ a place where all of the monsters would be naturally attracted. He was the stealthiest of the pair, and could gather water for Dean with the least difficulty, considering his teleportation abilities. Meanwhile, Dean would eat the honey stored in the plastic bag Castiel still had on him, and would proceed to build the booby traps which he, as a human hunter, had more intimate knowledge of the mechanics of.

Their teamwork was flawless, efficient. Just like old times, Dean thought with wry amusement.

Back on Earth, Sam was having difficulties of his own.


	2. Chapter 2

After Crowley and Co. vacated the premises, Sam was left, as the King of Hell so kindly pointed out, completely alone, feeling for once rather ungainly and somehow lopsided without his brother at his side. He absently paced and scanned the room, his body automatically searching every corner for signs of his brother and the lost angel, although his mind was already well past that point. He knew that they were in Purgatory, or wherever place they sent Dick Roman to, he knew it instinctively, the same way a child knows to seek warmth and safety and to avoid darkness and danger. But a more pressing matter, if indeed any matter could be more pressing than the loss of his brother, was what to do about the newly- leaderless Leviathans, and what to make of Crowley's kidnapping of the prophet.

There was no question that Supocorp needed to be blown to smithereens, needed it like a newborn calf needs milk. Sam had delegated this particular act of terrorism to an acquaintance of his from his days as a soulless hunter. The guy had learned not to question Sam's requests before, so Sam was spared from having to explain the entire situation and its complexities. Trusting his mercilessness absolutely, it was enough for him to know that Sam deemed the place a risk.

As for the prophet, his abduction by the denizens of Hell only solidified Sam's conviction that the boy was important_ for what, he wasn't sure. He had thought that following the failed Apocalypse, prophecy had ended, but that apparently wasn't the case. Did that mean that the script he himself had helped tear up and throw away was illusory? And what was in Kevin's destiny that made it so important for Crowley to possess him, to even take an interest? This highly unusual action wasn't made out of pettiness_ he considered revenge justly served when Dean and Castiel disappeared into Purgatory. What, then? Sam knew that Crowley was motivated primarily by the acquisition or preservation of power. Almost exclusively, in fact. But with the angels almost all dead and the Leviathans under control, he had full run of the planet again… what power could Kevin give him that he didn't have before? Or what threat did he pose to his personal empire? Other than having a direct link to God… which couldn't be it, of course, because Castiel's brief deification proved that God was a danger to no one, if nothing else.

Sam was at a loss. If Dean were there, he would have urged him on, saying that why Crowley wanted something wasn't so important as keeping him from getting it. But Dean wasn't there, and Sam could already feel the dull horror of that fact settling over him like a dark cloud. How could he rescue his brother and friend, and save the world at the same time?

He could start by getting some sleep. In the morning, he could get the hunters mentioned in Bobby's journal to spread the word on the "new" danger of Leviathan and how to kill them. Then he could find Crowley, and get some answers.

A shifter attacked while Castiel was out getting water. Neither of them realized it at the time, but since Castiel initially searched for safe places for shelter, a lone, starving shifter had crept quietly into the cave they then went to occupy, and hungrily watched the distracted, injured pair as they spoke near the entrance. When the angel had been gone for some time, the shifter thought it time to appear. _Meal, _it thought desperately, walking immediately outside of the cave, where the human was diligently whittling sticks into pointy stakes.

Feeling a presence by his side, Dean looked up into shockingly blue eyes. "I've got plenty of wooden stakes set up here, dunno how much protection that's gonna be," he said unhappily. "'Least this knife here's good for something. How're things with you? You get water?"

The shifter panicked for a moment, seeing the sharp knife the human was brandishing about, but it managed to get its emotions under control to reply. "No, I have been unsuccessful," it said, testing out the gravelly voice of the angel.

"Pity," Dean said, turning back to the stakes, and then to the entrance of the cave. "Guess we're camping out then."

"Not you," the starving shifter replied, before attacking.

Castiel returned to find Dean furiously, and vainly trying to hack away at a shifter. However, this wasn't working out so well, as the knife Dean had in his possession was made of simple steel, and was thus ineffective against shifters. Concerned, Castiel snuck around the shifter's back, and, when Dean nodded, reached around to put his palm on its forehead, proceeding to kill it.

"Bastard looked just like you," Dean said, kicking the shifter's head.

"I noticed."

"We can't do this. If we're not with each other 24/7… and we have no silver to test each other with."

"I could see the shifter's true form."

"Well, I couldn't!"

Castiel shut up at that, and they returned to the cave's interior, where they scoured it for signs of any other monster inhabitants. Once they felt sufficiently safe, Dean greedily slurped water stored inside another Ziplock bag Cas found in his coat, while the angel remained silent, thoughtfully staring at the featureless stone of the cave wall. Regarding Dean's shadow, he thought briefly of Plato, and his mouth twitched into an almost- smile which all too quickly dropped from his face. This was not the time.

"Dean. We cannot afford to be constantly wary of whether or not the other is a monster. We should have a quick and effective method of determining whether one or the other of us is indeed real." he said somberly, continuing to look at the wall. He was worried about their situation and in particular about Dean. How would they survive? How could he possibly protect him?

"Thought you didn't have to worry about that," Dean said, bitterly looking at the floor. He resented feeling useless. Castiel himself felt helpless in the face of that emotion.

"You do. But I think I know of a way. Monsters can't understand Enochian."

Dean blinked. "Sorry? Didn't the Whore know it? She almost exorcised you, and she's a monster."

"The Whore never did have a true understanding of the language. She's old enough to have accumulated the words to kill us, or to mock our commands, but not anything more than that."

"Well, hate to break it to ya, but I don't understand it either. Hell, I _flunked_ eighth-grade Spanish."

"I could teach you."


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel blanched when Dean mispronounced the word for "monster."

"Dean, that doesn't mean 'monster,'" he said, leaning in and whispering unnecessarily.

"Wha' does it mean, then?"

Castiel gulped, eyes widening and making his stare, if possible, even more intense. Dean mentally compared them to pits of blue fire. Or searchlights, because inadvertently or not, they _always_ made him feel exposed. "It means 'harlot.' A-Babalond and A- Bai-ebond may sound similar, but they mean very different things."

Dean looked at him doubtfully. "You sure the meanings are so different? With your experiences with women…" His smile curved around the words, drawing them out and stretching them into an insinuating tone. He was remembering the brothel, one of his fondest memories of his adventures with Castiel when he and Sam had briefly broken up. Fondest mostly because he could hold it over the angel's head.

Castiel's eyes could communicate volumes, but they only conveyed a single word at that moment. _Meg_, they seemed to suggest, and wasn't _that_ a whole lot of crap Dean didn't want to get into right then. He broke off eye contact, feeling as he did so a slight stinging pain in his gut. He didn't used to feel like he had to skirt around topics. He and Castiel could have entire conversations without speaking, and sometimes, without even seeing each other. Not anymore, apparently. Something fundamental in their bond was damaged, and Dean wasn't sure if it could even, ever, be fixed.

Look, Professor, I think that's enough for one day," he mumbled, looking at his shoes in the dim lighting of the cave with interest. _What'll I do when they wear out? Skin a monster and tan its hide? _"I know the words for monster, friend, and danger already. That should cover most of the course material, yeah?"

_Not really_, Castiel thought, but he didn't rebuke the hunter. Instead he looked intently at the man, taking into account his tired slump, the developing bags under his eyes, and the small twitch of the index finger on his left hand. He was fatigued. Castiel sometimes had difficulty following Dean's erratic sleeping patterns, but he knew that Dean's survival, at least in their situation, would be entirely dependent on how alert he was.

"You need to rest," Castiel pointed out helpfully.

"I know, yeah. But how can I, in this place? It's like we're stuck in Left 4 Dead in a safe room without any equipment!"

This earned him another blank stare, to which Dean inwardly groaned. "I'd just rather not sleep now." He didn't say that he was hoping against hope that this was all just a really screwed up dream. He didn't say that he knew sleeping would verify the reality of the matter, and he _didn't_ say that he was afraid something would find them while he was sleeping and kill him and Castiel both. But he got this odd feeling that Castiel knew all that, even without him saying it. And that he didn't think him any weaker for it.

"Regardless," Castiel sighed, "I can keep watch." As he moved towards the entrance of the cave, Dean called out.

"Hey, Cas." Castiel paused and turned, facing him, but Dean's face was cast in shadow, so he couldn't see his expression. His posture was careless, but his hands were twisting in his lap.

"Yes, Dean."

"I'm glad you're here with me." And with this gruff pronouncement, Dean shirked his jacket, stuffing it into a makeshift pillow before throwing himself on his side, in a facsimile of sleep.

It was dark, so Castiel allowed himself to smile briefly, before pivoting on his heel and returning to the entrance of the cave. _And I'm glad you're here with me, _he replied silently, so although Dean's ears strained for a reply, all he could hear was the soft scrape of loose stones on the cave floor being dislodged by Castiel's sneakers. So, releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to settle upon him.

Summoning the King of Hell was too risky an operation for Sam at the present moment. He had nothing, literally nothing that the former crossroads demon wanted, and nothing to threaten him with, either. Although Sam briefly considered just holding him with a Devil's trap until he got angry enough to tell him what he needed to know, prior experience told him that the probability he would escape and proceed to murder him was far too great to try it.

So instead, he threw himself into research. With Bobby gone for good, finding what he needed to know from books became much more difficult, but fortunately Sam was Internet-savvy and ran into quite a few tidbits online. While his investigation into prophets revealed zilch, he did find an interesting amount of information on Purgatory. Apparently, there were several ways of opening doors into it, but those were one-way doors, letting you in, not out. And as for the doors that _did_ let things out, there was no way of controlling _where_ in Purgatory the door would open up, or _what_ exactly would come through the door when it was opened.

But one night, holed up in a rancid-smelling motel with his eyes nearly bleeding from exhaustion, he made a breakthrough. Excited, he half-turned in his seat to the empty bed on the right- hand side of the room, before remembering himself and abruptly turning back to his laptop monitor, blinking rapidly.

"It's not Cato, it's the boatman. If not the Boatman, then the Griffon. And it's ascension…" he whispered, stifling a yawn. "How do I summon…" But he was too tired to complete his thought. The fantastic amounts of caffeine he'd imbibed drained out of him in an instant, leaving him snoring lightly on the keyboard of his new laptop. It followed suit a moment after.

Sam didn't know it, but the exact moment he dropped off, Dean was jerked awake by a sudden commotion.


	4. Chapter 4

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: If I owned Supernatural, I would be getting more reviews. If I owned Dante, I'd be getting tribute*

*I called this chapter "Plot Happens" when I was writing it. Because believe it or not, I actually am planning on going somewhere with the story. :D*

For Dean, it was a "commotion" that awoke him, but the rest of us ordinary folks might call it something more along the lines of, _an-almost-inaudible-rustle-of-leaves-as-footsteps-approached-the-cave. _Dean was a hunter, after all, and had been trained to sleep lightly since he was a wee little thing tottering about. This being so, Dean's eyes flew open the moment his brain registered the noise, and he was immediately on the alert, his knife clenched in his fist. Turning his head, he could see that Castiel, whose back was facing him and blocking any view of the attacker, had already assumed a defensive position. He crept forward to the cave entrance to assist in the incoming fight.

"A-Bai-elond?" he asked experimentally, just behind Castiel. His view of the attacker was still obstructed.

"_A-Bai-elond carth Mathor-gnahn?" _the intruder mumbled quietly to himself. Roughly translated, this means, _"Was I just called a dolphin?"_

Castiel turned slightly, allowing Dean to see the source of the footsteps: an ancient, yet powerfully built man. He had a long, grizzled, salt-and pepper beard, with hair to match, piercing, deep-set eyes, and a commanding presence. He was wearing a scratchy robe at the time, but he looked like he would be more at home in full body armor. Bloodstains included.

_I think Middle Earth is the other way, pal, _Dean thought, but he didn't say it aloud, first and foremost because he didn't _do_ nerd movies, but also because Castiel had taken a small step backwards and was eying the man warily. No one spoke. So, eyes flitting from the stranger to his friend, Dean raised the knife to waist level uncertainly, before allowing it to drop numbly from his fingers as Castiel's head swiveled, sending him a look that clearly said _Drop it. _It clattered loudly on the cave floor, but neither Castiel nor the mysterious elder seemed to pay it any heed. They were too busy sizing each other up, seeming to silently spar with the intensity of their respective gazes. Not understanding what was going on, and feeling annoyed by it, Dean was just about to demand some answers when Castiel spoke.

"Cato," he said, respect and wariness evident in his voice.

"Castiel," the old man replied. There was something about the timbre or tonality of his voice which reminded Dean strongly, achingly of John Winchester. He fought the urge to straighten up and await orders. In his own emotional turmoil, he missed the undercurrent of hatred that ran through the word, although Castiel immediately picked up on it. The angel thought it no matter; as far as he knew, _everyone_ hated him.

The man, Cato, turned from Castiel and aimed the full force of his attention on Dean.

"Step into the light," he ordered. Castiel shook his head minutely, but Dean's feet seemed to step forward of their own accord. Keen eyes immediately seemed to detach themselves from Dean, instead focusing on the forest floor a few feet to his left. Dean felt as if released from a spell.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" he blurted, immediately regretting it. For those eyes, _basilisk eyes_, turned right back to him, and fixed him with a look so scathing… Dean felt like blubbering an apology, much as used to when his father reprimanded him for being childish. The feeling was uncanny. He rebelled against it.

"Answer me!"

The man seemed to grow taller as he spoke. "I am Cato of Utica, and guardian of these shores," he said shortly. "Now answer _me_. Your shadow tells me that you are alive, human. Souls cast no shadow, and a living man has only entered my shores once. What is your business here?"

Dean's mouth worked, but no words came out in response. It wasn't often that Dean was so completely cowed, but there was something about Cato which inspired in Dean an image of a man hacking down people like weeds on the battlefield. It was, in a word, chilling.

"Our only business here is to liberate ourselves," Castiel said, saving him. "We seek only to obtain our freedom by returning to Earth. Surely one who knows the value of freedom as you do would lead us to where we need to go."

Dean wondered how Castiel knew the guy.

"Freedom?" Cato cried, lip curling. Something had obviously snapped, for gone was the cold air of extreme self-control; it had been replaced with a roiling wave of rage. "Yes, I know the value of freedom more than anyone, _angel_. I died for it, but even in death, I am shackled! I know the worth of _freedom,_ the _freedom_ to clasp my loved one, my Marcia, to by breast_" his eyes darted to Dean for a moment, almost as if whatever torment he was experiencing was somehow _his_ fault, as well, "_to so much as behold her shining, chaste eyes, to see her lips move as she calls for me! But lo! My _enslaver," _he spat, "knows I value freedom."

Dean surmised that Cato had a long time to ruminate over these matters, whatever they were. His speech sounded almost prepared. As he advanced towards Castiel, forcing the shorter man to look up to maintain eye contact, Dean even thought he could capture a glimmer of twisted satisfaction in his face.

"But to think, if even I had the power, that I would bring an _angel_ away from this prison_ my jailor, my _prison guard_… that is a sore mistake."

Spittle was flying directly onto Castiel's face as these last words were spoken, but the angel seemed unfazed. "I know not what you are saying," he said coldly. _Do you have a death wish?_ Dean thought. The electricity in the air was so palpable he wondered why he couldn't hear thunder.

The thunder came. "_THE ANGELS LIFTED ME FROM LIMBO! I WAS TAKEN AWAY FROM HER!" _the wrinkled man shouted, before quieting down into a hysterical whisper. "It wasn't so bad at first. I had a job. I had a job… but _then _they _left_, and _sealed_ the place in. It all… it all fell apart, and I would have _swum that cursed ocean _to get back to her, and I couldn't, because there's _no way out!"_

"The angels are dead," Castiel said quietly.

Cato wasn't listening. "Then there's _you," _he said, poison dripping from his tone. "_You _came and swallowed the whole mess up. I watched you kill angels…"

Castiel flinched.

"…and I was _glad._ I fed my hatred into you. I fought to get free, and for the first time there was _hope_, before you tossed it all back without a backwards glance!"

Castiel's fists were clenched, his breathing shallow and rapid. Dean, seeing that he wasn't being watched, quietly crouched down and picked up the knife he had dropped.

"You should have come to right your wrongs," Cato breathed, "You should have come to liberate _me._"

Dean had made up his mind_ however powerful this Cato character may be, he was a threat. He had a striking resemblance to a dog with rabies, and dogs with rabies were _put down_.

Dean lunged at him, knife in hand, but Cato's muscular arm shot out and twisted it from his grasp, without the man so much as turning his head in Dean's direction. Cato's eyes remained where they were, peering with disgust at the slumped angel before him

Castiel seemed to be fighting an internal battle. His eyes were turned to the ground, but after a moment he squared his shoulders and looked up again at Cato, face stony, eyes flint.

"I _will_ suffer and pay for my crimes, Cato, guardian of the shores of Purgatory. However, I do not pretend to have any knowledge of the affairs of Purgatory you have alluded to. Do not presume to cast blame on the ignorant."

'"How ignorant can an angel be?" Cato said, but he could see he wasn't lying, so he backed off, releasing Dean's arm as he did so. Dean flexed it gingerly, and decided not to interfere again in the conversation.

Now that he was done with his outburst, Cato seemed drained. Centuries of survival in a hostile environment might have had no effect on him physically, he being a soul, but unbeknownst to him, it had worn him emotionally. He began his story in a hollow tone. "I was Lifted, appointed to my current position in Purgatory to act as Guardian and Guide to newly arrived human souls arriving on the shores. Monsters were kept here as well, predator becoming prey during the afterlife. Angels kept them under control, from attacking the human souls as they endeavored to purify themselves. They were only seen at all during the night hours. _'Nor is there anything to block the ascent except the shades of night: they of themselves suffice to sap the will of the most fervent.' _ And the Leviathan," he croaked, "were sealed, locked away in the ocean surrounding Purgatory by God Himself. For this reason, not even the Boatman dared touch the waters; he flew over them, new souls alight on his great back."

Dean wondered a little at this description, before remembering that Castiel's true Form was huge. _What did he say? Size of the Chrysler Building? _

"I do not understand why, but one day the Boatman stopped coming. The other angels on the island disappeared as well, and I can only assume that the same happened everywhere else. Chaos followed their departure. The monsters, with no one to stop them, overran my island, the rest of Purgatory and…" the tough man shuddered, "ate up most of the human souls. Some of them dared swim the sea to escape. Others climbed the Cliff to the next Levels. I tried to dive back into Limbo, but before I could, all the exits were sealed. There was… no way out. Monsters rule now, continuing the same 'kill or be killed' pattern they've been operating with for centuries. But it was later… immeasurably later… when everything was swallowed up. Then, even the Leviathan were yanked out of the ocean waters and into you…"

"I do not understand. This is not what I was told about Purgatory," Castiel said. IT was a statement of fact, but it brought the resentment and anger flooding back.'

"And just what were you told, angel?"

"Purgatory was sealed by God. Humans continued to die in sin, but no longer desired to tread the path of repentance in the afterlife. The monsters were too dangerous to be left with open doors to Heaven and Earth, so God sealed Purgatory, and angels mourned Man's lack of faith," Castiel said thoughtfully.

"And you just ate that up, didn't you?" Cato said bitterly. "What I say is God ditched, and the angels followed suit."

Castiel looked stung. Dean was getting a headache. To him, this was all God-crap, archaic mumbo-jumbo with no pertinence to their situation. He was thoroughly sick of the subject of the sloppy deity. He revised his earlier resolution to not butt into the conversation again.

"'Scuse me," he said, tactlessly and rather awkwardly, "But we've all been screwed by God. So are you gonna help us or not? Way I see it, no one's gonna get out of this place until we get our asses moving."

Dean tried not to be creeped out by the look the Cato gave him. It was that same interested, amused _Ilikeyou _face that powerful beings were always giving him. It never failed to make Dean feel like the "mudmonkey" the angels claimed he was.

"As I said, the exits are sealed. If there even _is_ a way out, it would be the opening leading from the Mount to Paradise… God Himself made that opening; I don't think even the angels could have sealed it up, unless He really is the one who orchestrated this."

"Great. How do we get there?"

Cato blinked, surprised. "You _ascend_. There are innumerable monsters between here and there, of course, and who knows which rules of ascension are even still in effect? It's suicide."

Dean and Castiel shared a look.

"'_Been there, done that,'_" Castiel quoted. Dean grinned.

"That cliff you were talking about… can you lead us to it?"

"That _was_ my job," Cato replied curtly. He turned to Castiel, giving him a skeptical look. "That was really all you were told about what happened here." It wasn't phrased as a question, but he was asking all the same.

"I have been told," Castiel said, glancing briefly at Dean, "that angels are a corrupt species."

Cato's reply sounded much like an old-fashioned way of saying '_damn straight'. _"And if you make it out… would you open a door for me from the outside? So I can see my Marcia again?" Cato was very visibly wavering.

Castiel's eyes blazed with surety. "I will spend the rest of my existence," he said, "trying to right my wrongs. If there is a way to help, I will."

"Fair enough," Cato said, before turning and leading them through the underbrush.

It was some time before they reached their destination (two days, in fact). This wasn't due simply to the fact that they had to fight eight monsters on the way there; a good deal of the delay was because they first had to go backwards to the edge of the island to pluck reeds to place around their waists, and to wash themselves of what Cato called "Earth-stench" before proceeding to the Cliff. Cato would have made a lousy tour guide, quiet as he was those two days, but he did tell Dean how he found them. Apparently, the moment they arrived, Dick Roman had fallen in his own true Form, screaming into the ocean, where he was again bound. Cato witnessed this, and immediately searched for other new additions to his island, succeeding in sensing the undeniable presence of an angel. Dean slept a little easier after hearing this. Knowing that a bloodthirsty Leviathan _wasn't_ going to come and kill you any second was surprisingly comforting. Cato also spoke a little about Marcia, but Dean never did understand why the man loved her so much. She seemed part of rather a bad lot of women.

Finally they reached the yellowy cliff face, bleeding from the latest monster attack, but whole, and profoundly grateful to have reached their destination.

"I must leave you here," Cato then said, exercising his vocal cords for the first time in hours. "For some reason, I still lack the power to ascend this cliff. Means there are probably other rules still in effect. I'd rather you didn't die; if you do, there is no hope at all."

When Cato's footsteps had faded away into the sinister background noise of the forest, Dean spoke. Something had been eating at him for a few days, and he didn't feel like it was right to voice it while Cato was with them.

"You'll spend the rest of your existence trying to right your wrongs?" he said, looking ahead resolutely and willing his voice not to crack.

"Every moment."

Dean dared a look at Castiel then, and saw that his eyes were glimmering. He looked away again. Swallowed.

"I don't know, Cas," he choked out. Sucking in a breath, he turned back to the angel and tried to muster a smile.

"But I guess… I guess that's good enough for me."

Meanwhile, Sam was attempting the impossible


	5. Chapter 5

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: I didn't update because I was busy reading Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. It's an addicting story.*

What Sam was doing was dangerous. Blasphemous. Ludicrous.

That is, if it worked at all. He half-hoped that it didn't

He eyed the dark mixture before him as if it was made of black powder. It might as well have been. Because if he was successful, _he knew that he wasn't wrong, but he hopedhehoped he was_, then there was no telling how explosive the consequences would be.

Summoning God was risky business, there was no denying it. Sam tossed the match in, and stopped himself from following his instinctual inclination to pray.

_Wait, what was that?_

Sam was not only incredibly intelligent, but also insufferably _good_. His dreams immediately following his breakthrough were laced, not with elation, but with _guilt. _When he woke up, that guilt only grew more poignant.

He felt he should have come up with the solution sooner. When Cas went looking for God the _first_ time, he should have seen the solution _immediately_, it was simple enough, he could have been more _help_. But he was thoroughly absorbed in his own problems at the time, so when Dean said it was a bad idea, it automatically _was_. Sam sighed and rubbed his temples. At times, he was all too aware of how much he still, however subconsciously, considered his brother to be omnipotent. It always hurt, in a million different ways, to do something that Dean disagreed with, and it was rare for him to even _consider _that his brother's judgment was flawed. And to some small degree, that same deference applied to Castiel, as well.

Not that Dean wasn't right about finding God, at least in a few ways. Castiel _had _gone about the whole thing in entirely the wrong way, because it was true that God didn't want to be found, didn't want to help. Playing hide-and-seek with the Being that conceptualized the game wasn't likely to yield much success.

But there were rules that governed the universe, rules that could summon and bind even Death. If that could be done, who was to say that God couldn't be summoned and bound as well?

Hence the blasphemy.

Sam's breathing caught when he heard the tell-tale _crack!_ of a displacement of air.

_"I know, that my Redeemer lives," _a weak, yet resonant voice sang from behind him. Sam whirled to face the source, and made a sort of choke-gasp when he saw who it was.

Kevin's eyes weren't just glowing gold; in fact they weren't golden _human_ eyes at all. They were _eagle_ eyes. The significance of this hit Sam like a sledgehammer. _The Griffon._

_"Kevin?" _he asked, stunned. The Asiatic kid smiled indulgently.

_"He lives to guide me with his eye."_ An elaborate way of saying _no_, but effective nonetheless.

Sam floundered. "I don't, I mean, _what__"

God-Kevin decided to quit speaking in verse. "You have been called," he said serenely, "as a Prophet of the Lord."

_Wait, what was that?_

"Huh?" Sam said intelligently. His mind was in overdrive, trying to piece together exactly how it was that Kevin ended up being _God_. At least it might explain some of Crowley's abnormal interest in him, although it _didn't_ explain much else. In fact, it just made everything else much more confusing.

"Neither shall thy name any more be called Samuel Winchester, but thy name shall be הבא עבור יהוה, for a helper have I made thee," God-Kevin continued. (1)

"Woah, woah, wait," Sam said, holding up his hand, still trying to comprehend what was going on. "Helper? I… I _summoned _you here. And Kevin_?"

"All signs," God-Kevin said vaguely. "It would take too long to explain. Time is short."

"What do you _mean?_" Sam's plan, in spite of its inherent genius, was absurdly simple. Get God, bind God, and get his brother and friend the hell out of Purgatory. Now complications were springing up like dandelions on a freshly mowed lawn. Because from all appearances, it looked like God was…

"Your task is to gather the Word of God from every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. To save all of Creation."

…it looked like God was sending him on a _mission._ And that if he didn't do it, the world was going to end _again_. Wouldn't it be nice if he could just save his family _without_ getting landed with a worldwide crisis?

"I don't understand," Sam said. The words sounded foreign, coming out of his mouth.

God-Kevin threw his hands in the air, searching the room as if for help. A strange juxtaposition from the nervous, stiff young man that Sam knew. "The Enlightenment was a gamble, I know, but I'm getting _tired_ of having to explain everything!" he said in a frustrated tone. "Look, you must have noticed that Creation is fading. The laws are bending, glitches are appearing in the system. You _really think_ that these last few years would have happened if the laws of causality were operating normally? It's crazy!"

Sam shook his head slowly. To him, crazy was just another day in the life. "How can creation be fading? Isn't the Word of God like, _eternal?_"

God-Kevin sighed. "I admit there was a bit of hype," he began.

_Understatement of the millennium_, Sam thought. _Might as well have called the Flood a "bit of rain."_

"But I'll try to explain this simply. Imagine you say something, anything. "Roses are red, violets are blue," for instance. Those words would come out of your mouth and hang in the air for a moment, before becoming so tangled up in everything else that they would just fade away and disappear."

Sam knew enough about sound travel to argue a bit about the wording.

"Okay, bad example. But I can't just _tell_ you everything about dark energy and all else, right? Just imagine, I _spoke the Word_ to the universe, and for a prolonged moment, it _listened_. But that single moment is coming to a close, and everything that I've worked so long on is going to flicker out of existence."

Sam wasn't quite sure if he followed. If what God said was true_ which was doubtful, because it didn't make any sense_ then the end seemed pretty inevitable. "So, what? You need me to gather the Word for you? How is that going to help?"

"If I can Speak the Word again, I could 'renew' the laws. Delay the termination date. I need you to gather the hard copies. The fact that you summoned me is proof enough of your ability to find them."

"Hard copies? And why don't you get them yourself?"

God-Kevin fixed him with a condescending stare. The predatorial glint of the eagle eyes made Sam feel doubly uncomfortable. "Do you know how _complicated_ the laws governing this world are? Do you _really think_ I can just say _Let there be light_, and make it so? From one fundamental law of logic, I fashioned _trillions upon trillions_ of secondary, tertiary laws, an impossible combination of rules unfeasible to simply conjure from memory! The dangers of getting a variable wrong are too high to risk! I could change the function of _humanity_ by mispronouncing the Interactive Chaos Equation. This world is a work of genius, and half of it was a mix of accident and good luck. In fact, it's only recently that I could find a way to have different, coexisting creations. Of _course _I need the hard copies, of _course _I put them where no one, not even myself could find them! After the first time, with Noah… I realized I couldn't just try and _improve upon_ it. I had to leave it be, and to do that, I had to put the Word where I could never find them." (2)

Sam felt thoroughly scolded. He also couldn't help but feel a little disillusioned. He used to be religious, after all. "Right," he said apologetically. "So I find the Word of God. Like, the stone tablet you_ I mean, Kevin_ translated for us?"

"I believe there are twenty five, total" God-Kevin said thoughtfully. Inwardly, Sam groaned _I believe_ was never a reliable phrase, even from God. "Kevin was originally meant to find the Word, but the signs…" he shrugged. Sam tried not to think too hard about _how _the whole Kevin-God relationship worked. He had a creeping suspicion the explanation would end up being just as confusing as the Trinity itself.

"Right. But…" Sam said, calculating his chances, and reasonably certain that God depended on his continued survival enough _not _to blow him to Timbuktu with his next words, "I want you to do something for me first. I don't know if you noticed, but my brother and my friend are _trapped in Purgatory_. If you get them out, I will help you."

Sam hastily re-did his calculations when he beheld the terrible expression given him, transforming Kevin's mild face into something closely resembling a squashed bat. It now looked _very much like_ he would be blown to Timbuktu.

"I had Jonah _eaten_," God-Kevin said, voice rumbling through the room, making Sam shudder involuntarily. "For you, the consequences would be much worse. **You have been called.** Your brother and Castiel are where they are meant to be, and they are safe."

Dean and Castiel were currently running for their lives.

(1) In case anyone was wondering why Castiel, who has the names of all of the prophets seared into his brain, didn't realize that Sam was a future prophet, it was because God very cleverly changed Sam's name just as he became a prophet. God: 1 Castiel: 0. Also, the translation of הבא עבור יהוה is "Fetch for the Lord." After some thought, God decided that "Golden Retriever" would have been a tad offensive.

(2) God not knowing until recently that two different Creations, with entirely different Laws could coexist is an important point. After making this discovery, God hand-picked a candidate to become another God. Who that is, is yet a mystery.


	6. Chapter 6

Up the Mount of Purgatory

_And into the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta_

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: More and more research is required for every chapter! For any information on the Kogi Tribe that isn't terribly misconstrued, look up Alan Ereira's accounts in the television documentary _The Heart of the World,_ information on Purgatory in Dante's _Purgatorio_, and any and all information regarding Sam and Dean Winchester and Castiel in Kripke's television series _Supernatural._ *

A lingering sense of danger accompanied Cato's departure. Anxiously Dean scanned the cliff face before them, which darkened from a yellowy hue to an orangeish-red as the sun lowered in the sky. It rose sheer, with not so much as a pebble jutting outwards for a foothold. Sir Edmund Hillary wouldn't have attempted it; he would have blanched and said _no can do, _before hurrying away. Dean allowed his eyes to flick to Castiel's.

_Can you fly__

_ No__

And then they heard it. A menacing howl sounded from the forest behind them, undoubtedly aimed in their direction. (1) Words were tumbling out of Castiel's mouth, one right over the other, something about an extinct species… precursor to gray wolf… one of the first _Cynodictis… _but the one word Dean really latched onto was _**deadly**_, and it was that word which made him grab Castiel by the sleeve and start running, _flying_ along the side of the cliff, because if there was _any_ way they were getting out, it would have to be upwards.

They kept running for some time, both men wrestling hysteria, each certain jaws were snapping right at their ankles. In the panic that had seized him, Castiel almost missed it: a wound in the cliff wall only just wide enough to fit a man, but deep and dark and _climbable. _He stopped dead in his tracks, tripping Dean up, and used the momentum to spin the man around by the shoulders and _shove_ him into the crevice. He was pretty sure Dean's right arm was bruised on one of the jutting rocks, but he had no time to acknowledge the injury.

_"Climb,"_ he said shortly, coming in after.

It took everything within Dean not to swear.

OO

Sam, however, _did _swear. It was uncharacteristic of him, to so vehemently shout profanity to no one in particular, but at that moment Sam wasn't quite himself. In fact, if God-Kevin were around right at that moment, Sam would have shot him in the face.

Turned out God was right after all.

The world was fading. Sam had looked it up, and found the signs, cropping up all over the place. _Why couldn't he see it before?_ The laws of causality _weren't _operating normally, they were malfunctioning just the same way they'd been during the Apocalypse, but when the Apocalypse ended, _they didn't stop_, but Sam had never checked on them again, because he's just _assumed_ they had stopped.

_Never make assumptions,_ John Winchester had once said, way back on Sam's first hunt. And Sam had done just that.

He was furious with himself, but he channeled that fury. He may not have been Ash, and he certainly lacked a good deal of Bobby's common sense, but he _could_ build a program to track the hot spots, the places where the Word was most likely to be hidden. With supplementary research, he narrowed it down to ten areas. He just wished he had a second opinion, another person to check his theories with. As it was, he had no one to rely on, save a deity watching over him. It wasn't a comfort to him in the _least._

But twenty-five be _damned. _Sam immediately made arrangements to visit Colombia. He had a mountain to climb.

OO

Dean didn't know how long they'd been climbing. He only knew that his bones ached, his hands were bleeding, and his sneakers were torn, now tattered strips of leather hardly recognizable as footwear. For some odd reason, the sun had yet to sink below the horizon, remaining to cast a dim light on the decaying and crumbling ledges they had passed so far. The only reason Dean didn't just let go of the rock and allow himself to drop was the knowledge of the fact that Castiel was climbing directly below him, and that if he dropped, he'd kill the angel, too.

Even so, he considered it. The pain was unbearable, excruciating. His body was screaming at him, to _juststopitstopthehurting_, when he glimpsed a ledge, a _solid_ ledge, running along the side of the mountain just a little ways above him. Hope surged within him, dulling the agony, and he excitedly looked downwards to relay the good news to Castiel.

Castiel had stopped climbing. He was a good deal farther down than Dean expected him to be, and his limbs were trembling violently with the effort of clinging to the rock face. An unnatural pallor seemed to bleach his skin; a sheen of sweat covered it.

The words died in Dean's throat. He could scarcely remember what he had been going to say. But then Castiel's eyes were pulled upwards, as if my some invisible force _how does that always happen? _and Dean could _see_ in them…Castiel was considering exactly the same thing he had been; of just letting go and allowing himself to be beaten by the surrounding rocks until he reached the bottom.

And it all came flooding back.

"There's a ledge just a little ways ahead, just a very little ways ahead," he begged. He wanted to bully Castiel into climbing again, but he _couldn't._ "We can rest there."

The anguish in Castiel's expression didn't lessen. His lips did part though, and he uttered some sort of strangled syllable Dean could only presume was a word. It still looked like he was going to drop.

_Pleasepleaseplease, pleasepleasepleaseplease...  
_

But then, with what looked like tremendous effort, Castiel's bloodied, trembling arm rose. He clenched at the next outcropping of rock, seeming to slip for a moment…

_PLEASE, pleasepleasePLEASE...  
_

… Before holding firm. Within a few minutes, he was directly below Dean again. Dean had kept up his wordless plea the entire time, white-faced with terror, and was only jerked back to awareness by Castiel's gasping voice.

_"Ledge," _the angel said urgently. And they continued to climb.

OO

The lore on the Kogi was hard to come by. They were a secretive and suspicious tribe, and so there were a limited number of sources Sam could consult for information.

Well, only one source, really. But it was enough to convince Sam that the Word of God was in the mountain._ And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so. _The geological evidence _alone _was staggering, for how else could every type of ecosystem in the world be contained in a single four-mile-high mountain?

Although they had closed the bridge providing access to their civilization following the end of Ereira's filming, Sam had found it easy enough to bypass the natural and more artificial barriers to the Pre-Columbian polity. He had God on his side, after all.

"_I bestow upon you the gift of tongues, prophecy, revelation, visions, healings, interpretation of tongues, and so forth,"_ the Holy Being had said, before dumping Sam rather unceremoniously into the thick of the forest in the Sierra. He hoped the blessings he was given covered immunizations. As it was, the ear-splitting sound of a trump seemed to accompany his arrival, a sound which _more_ than his presence seemed to alarm the white-clad native before him. Her eyes widened into round white orbs, and a small shriek escaped her lips. She dropped the stick she was holding, along with the bean seeds in her other hand.

"Are you a… vassal?" Sam asked hesitantly. Somehow he felt it would be wrong to say _take me to your leader._

She garbled something which sounded vaguely Chibchan, but gradually the meaning of her words flowed to Sam, like clear water flowing through a crystal funnel. "…Last Trump… Younger Brother reoccupy… oh dear…. The Mamas… chaos…"

And she fainted. Sam barely caught her before she hit the ground.

OO

It seemed the Sun finally found something better to do once Dean and Castiel collapsed on the edge of the grassy ledge. It abruptly ducked its head below the horizon, leaving them in utter darkness, uncomfortably reminiscent of the darkness of the crevice they'd been previously navigating.

Castiel had no words of gratitude for Dean, for what he did before. Castiel had no words at all. His voice seemed to have given out. Instead he allowed his head to loll to the side, so that he could look at the hunter, and give his thanks in full sincerity, silently.

Dean didn't know it, but the climb hadn't just been physically taxing for Castiel. The moment his hand touched rock, it felt as if some of his spiritual vitality was draining away, as well. As they ascended, Castiel felt more and more the effects of a cold and clammy weariness, an empty despair, which gripped him mercilessly, and refused to let go. He had almost lost the _will_ to climb, like a lamp that had run out of oil. It was only when Dean had looked down that he could manage to remember why he hadn't let go fifty feet down.

In that all-consuming despair, though, Castiel found questions plaguing him, and even without climbing, those questions persisted. _I don't know what is right, _he thought. _I hardly know why I do anything, and I don't know if any of it right. If it isn't, then what am I? Just another monster…?_

He contemplated asking Dean about it in the morning, for the hunter was already passed out from exhaustion, but eventually resolved to keep the matter to himself. Dean didn't need to think about his problems, and if he could learn to prioritize, he didn't need to think about them either. Escape, surely, was a greater concern…

(1)The howling _was_ aimed in their direction, but Castiel and Dean weren't actually in any danger of being pursued by the creatures. Cato had unwittingly stumbled upon a pack of them a little ways back, and very dutifully led them _the other way_. However, Dean's reaction was perfectly normal and healthy for any resident of Purgatory… it's not usually a good idea to wait and see if they're really coming for you _before_ you start running. It's as the age old saying goes: Run first, ask questions later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Conversation with a Serpent**

_And some Manly Mamas_

_*AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am positive that Dante is turning over in his grave, but thankfully the Kogi are derisive of technology, and Kripke is a very busy man, so they cannot be offended by my writing. *_

Castiel awoke first, and once he got over his initial panic, _whywasIasleep? _he found Dean stirring as well. A small scared part of him longed to reach out and touch the hunter, for reassurance, but he squashed that impulse as soon as it arose, instead sitting up and trying to look like he'd been awake the whole time.

Dean soon mimicked his motion, rubbing his eyes, looking around blearily. "Still dark," he muttered. "Not safe." Laboriously, he got to his feet, and waved his hand to indicate that Castiel should follow him.

Castiel wavered. _No, _he thought, feeling afraid for a reason he couldn't place. _We need to talk, I need to tell you something, something's wrong…_

But he didn't say anything, and he followed.

Their walking had settled into an uneasy rhythm when they began to feel the unmistakable pull that meant they were going downwards. _Into a valley? _Castiel thought with confusion. Daring a look at Dean, he could sense nothing unusual, nothing indicating anxiety or fear from the man. He didn't know why he felt he _should_ be sensing any. But something was _off, _more than the increasingly potent smell of flowers, and the faint underlying scent of putrefaction. Castiel just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Presently Dean made a gagging noise. The overwhelming odor of flowers was beginning to make him feel seriously sick. He thought that he detected a whiff of _poppy_, of all things. (1) And the slithery rustling sound coming from his right, which he presumed to be Castiel dragging his feet, was beginning to grate on his nerves.

He turned to upbraid the angel for it when what looked like Castiel's shadow reared upwards, becoming a towering column of black against a lighter black.

"Is this The Wizard of Oz, and am I Dorothy?" Dean whispered. "Because I swear I'm hallucinating…"

He wasn't, though, because Castiel had turned to exactly the same place Dean was staring at, and he looked every bit as petrified. In fact, he looked rather like a mouse caught in the gaze of a snake, which was more or less true.

_"The Serpent,"_ he hissed at Dean. From the tone of his voice, it can be inferred that he meant something more along the lines of _you-idiot-don't-talk-it-might-hear-you…_

Dean never thought he'd find himself wishing for the sword of Godric Gryffindor, but he wished for it then. Fervently.

OO

Sam couldn't remember what had happened in the last few hours. He strongly suspected that this was because he had been drugged. He was also tied up and in a dark room, which was comforting, because this situation was _familiar_, and he knew how to handle it.

It took him half a moment to realize that he probably _shouldn't_ handle the situation like he normally would, because as far as he knew, the Kogi weren't monsters and weren't interested in killing him. _Then _he groaned, and wondered what he should do.

He could faintly make out voices, coming from outside of what he now recognized as a dirt-and-straw hut. He couldn't make out a good deal of what they were saying, other than it had something to do with _aluna,_ and _danger, _and that they might have been debating on whether it was safe to kill him after all…

"Hey!" he shouted, trying not to sound unfriendly, "I'm not dangerous! Could you… let me go?"

The voices stopped, but he could hear footsteps approach the hut. Soon enough, the girl who'd passed out earlier walked inside, accompanied by a wizened old man wearing what looked to Sam like a small fabric dunce cap.

"H-he's awake," the girl stammered, poking at Sam's arm as if to make sure. Looking around the two people before him to the door of the hut, Sam thought he could see children poking their heads in, only to grin nervously and pop right back out again. Although he was tied up, he didn't really feel as if he was in any _danger, _but he measured his words carefully, just in case.

"Where am I?" he asked. That was usually a safe question.

The old man, who had previously worn a scrutinizing expression, now looked at Sam in wonderment, and maybe a little fearfully, too.

"The Younger Brother speaks our language, and comes with the sound of a trump," the man said in an impressive voice. "Is this what the prophecy forewarned? Is the world not to end by the heating up, but now? Is this Columbus?"

"I'm Sam," Sam said. "And I don't think that global warming is going to end the world, which is why I'm here, actually. I'm looking for something… a rock? With strange writing on it?"

The girl and the mean with the strange headwear exchanged a look. "Tomb-robber," the man spat.

Sam sighed, and looked as sincere as he possibly could, considering his mind was still a little foggy from the drug he'd been given. "I'm not a tomb-robber," he explained. "I've been sent for a stone tablet, by, by…" he cast about for a name, but he was having difficulty remembering what he'd researched on the Kogi. "… the Great Mother. You were… its caretaker, but I've come to retrieve it again."

"You are not from _aluna,_" he old man said decisively. "You lie. You are Younger Brother, and you carry moths." He brandished Sam's cell phone, as if it were condemning evidence.

"He is Columbus!" the girl shrieked. "He comes to kill the Mamas and the Great Mother at the heart of the world!"

Sam gulped. Whatever accusations were being made of him, they sounded pretty severe. "Look, I haven't come to kill _anyone__" he began.

"Enough," the old man said authoritatively. "This is Younger Brother, and we do not kill Younger Brother." This was said pointedly, and seemed to be directed at the girl. "But Younger Brother must leave us in peace. We will kill his moths, and show him out, when he vows to stop destroying the Great Mother."

"I would never _dream _of harming the Great Mother_"

"Silence. There will be a council. You will sleep."

OO

Dean knew he wasn't a Parselmouth, which meant that the Serpent was definitely speaking _English._

"Greetingsss, Cassstiel," it seemed to hiss.

Dean decided it was a great time to test his new-found talent for Enochian. "A-Bai-ekrond!" he shouted.

The _thing_ swayed in the air a moment, as if confused. Then, hesitantly, "What doesss he mean, _geranium?_"

OO

Eventually Sam _did _go to sleep, and when he awoke, he found himself surrounded with people wearing the same strange hat… _Mamas, _he remembered. He was outside now, in what appeared to be the center of a gathering of huts with straw roofs. Every Mama had a small gourd-like object and a stick in their hand, which they were using to scratch some substance onto their gourds. All of them seemed to be chewing something, and had meditative looks on their faces. It was some time before one Mama glanced up and recognized Sam was awake.

"Younger Brother," he croaked.

Sam was beginning to be a little freaked out. It might have had something to do with the fact that no one bothered calling him by his _name_.

"I'm Sam," he said, for the second time that day. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but I _really need_ this… tablet. The fate of the world kind of depends on it."

All the Mamas were looking at him now, their faces blank and stony. Sam felt intimidated.

"The Younger Brothers are always needing things from us," another Mama said slowly. It was almost as if the Mamas were collectively one organism; they all spoke the same thoughts, with the same inflection, the same cadence. "They destroy the Great Mother, tearing up her liver with the trees, taking the water away from the world. Were it not for the Mamas, chaos would are arisen long ago. We keep the balance. But we cannot be held responsible for what the Younger Brothers do; there is only so much even _we_ can accomplish. We sent out our warning long ago, but the Younger Brother continues to pillage, destroy, pillage, and destroy."

"I'm really sorry about that," Sam said, placating. His mind was becoming clearer and clearer, and he began to remember what he'd been planning to say when he first arrived within Colombian shores. "The Younger Brothers will pay for their crimes. The Great Mother made you caretakers of the Word at the Heart of the World, and I have been sent from _aluna_ to relieve you of this burden. You have done well. Now it is time for the Great Mother to renew herself and… purge herself of all damaging elements. I need the Word you protect… a stone tablet, with strange symbols on it…" Sam knew he was making a gamble, and a pretty big one considering his limited understanding of Kogi ritual, but he was beginning to feel desperate, with all of those empty eyes boring into him.

"We have journeyed into _aluna_," yet another Mama said. Sam had to spin around to look at him. "No spirit there takes the form of a Younger Brother. Spirits do not carry moths."

Sam didn't like the feeling of lying, it seemed to crawl under his skin and fester there like a disease. He especially didn't like the feeling of deceiving an entire _people_, about something that was obviously sacred to them. However, he was, quite literally, on a holy mission, and he couldn't back out now. So it was with a pained expression that he drew himself upwards, straining only slightly against his bindings, and booming out grandly,

"When you travel into _aluna_, you become spirit. When spirit travels to the world, it becomes corporeal. Now _where_ is the _tablet?_"

OO

"You are supposed to be guarded by angels," Castiel said, still not moving.

"Yesss," the Serpent said, "But then they left, and now theresss a bit of a pessst control problem."

Dean might have laughed, if he was in a laughing mood. As it was, he was in more of a Serpent-slaying mood. "Who are you?" he yelled.

The Serpent ignored him, ducking its head and beginning to slither around Castiel in a scaly circle on the grass.

"Interesssting. You've come to redeem yourssself," it whispered directly into Castiel's ear. Miraculously, he didn't flinch.

"We've come to escape," he stated.

"Nonsssensse. The only reassson sssoulss assscend isss that they ssseek purification. Although, for you thatsss impossible. You will have to ssstay here forever."

"Oh?" Dean said in challenge. He was beginning to be bothered by the degree to which the Serpent was ignoring him. But the great Snake responded to him this time, although his words were aimed at Castiel.

_Serpent's Tricks 101 Topic: Repentance._

_He will say that you cannot repent because you have sinned too greatly_

"You have ssslain your brethren, deceived and betrayed your friendsss, performed the mossst sssacreligiouss act… there is no degree of purification sssufficient to cleanssse you," it hissed venomously. "You could not conceivably complete the assscent." Castiel shuddered then, his eyes closing briefly, as if he was hoping he could blink away the scaly monstrosity before him.

"You say that to proceed, one must be purified," Castiel said. "What does that require of me?"

The Serpent drew back, surprised. "Sssomething that you do not possssesss. A ssspirit of true repentance. But even with that, you would be consssumed before ever reach the peak. For your sssinss…"

"Maybe so," Castiel said neutrally. "But if I can make it yet a little ways, that would be enough." He hadn't looked at Dean as he said this, rather gazing unfalteringly into the glowing eyes of the Serpent, whose head was almost touching Castiel's nose. Nonetheless, the creature swung its head to face Dean for a fraction of a second before turning back to Castiel. Snakes are observant, after all.

_Serpent's Tricks 101 Topic: Repentance_

_He will say that no one else cares about your fate; that you cannot repent because no one loves you enough to desire it of you._

"And you think that mattersss?" it asked with faux curiosity. Dean had no idea what it was referring to. "The human agreesss with me, it knowsss you cannot do it, and isss disssgusssted by your pressscence even now. Would it not be better to allow him to proceed in peace?"

This time Castiel _did_ look at Dean, with an expression on his face that Dean had never seen before. And Dean noticed, for the first time… the Serpent wasn't just circling around Castiel… it was _wrapping _around him, and seemingly without the angel being aware of it. Even now, he could see it beginning to squeeze…

"Hey," he said lowly, addressing the snake. He brought out his knife quietly as he spoke. "Whatever the hell you're saying, it's wrong. Wrong, alright? I won't deny that a lot of the time I feel like socking the sonuvabitch, yelling at him until my lungs collapse… but I have _never_," he breathed harshly, "been _**disssgusssted**_with him. He's staying with me, dammit!"

And he threw the knife, directly into the Serpent's eye. With a terrible scream, it began to thrash, tossing Castiel a good five feet away and face-first into the ground in the process. Only when it had completed its last death throes did Dean dare to approach it, to draw his knife out of the steaming sockets of the great adder.

_Looks like a regular old knife did the trick after all, _he thought in wonderment. Castiel picked himself off of the ground and stood beside him, watching him draw it out.

"_And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the _knife_ that is in thine own eye?_" Castiel murmured with a chuckle. Dean turned to him, incredulous.

"Did you just make a _joke?_"

"You just," Castiel hiccuped a laugh, "killed the _Serpent_."

They both laughed at that. In fact, they were so busy laughing that when the large golden eagle swooped down to pick them up, they couldn't even manage to raise their arms to defend themselves.

OO

The Mamas had decided to sacrifice Sam to _aluna_ once dawn began to light up the sky. Their reasoning ran thus: if Sam really was from the spirit world, killing him shouldn't be a problem, and he could always come back later in another form. If he _wasn't _from _aluna_, then they would be keeping the balance of the world, performing a service. It was a very logical course of action actually; the only problem was that Sam _really_ didn't want to die.

_Will you, uh, protect me from my adversaries? _he prayed silently. _Since I'm carrying out your Work?_

God's voice seemed to bounce around in his skull as he replied. _**I think it's safest for you to get out of this on your own. Don't know if I can bring you back if you die at this point, and I can only intercede so much on the corporeal plane before I begin to accelerate the decomposition of the Law.**_

_Damn you, _Sam thought.

So it was that much later, in the dead of the night, Sam was _still _trying to saw away the rope binding his wrists on an increasingly blunted rock. If he ever got off of the mountain alive, he was planning on taking some of their rope with him. That stuff was made _well_.

Sam had just about given up hope when he heard the _crack_, not of displaced air, but of a careless foot stepping on a twig.

"Who's there?" Sam asked.

A very small boyish voice gave an involuntary yelp. After some more cracking, Sam could feel small hands touch his wrists, before beginning to work on untying him.

"I eavesdropped on the council," the tiny, youthful voice explained softly. "I heard you were going to be sacrificed. I don't think that's right, though, because once when the Mamas couldn't cure my sister when she was sick, a tomb-robber gave her some medicine, and she got better. Are you a tomb robber?"

"No," Sam said. "I am looking for a stone tablet though, with strange writing on it."

"You _are_ a tomb robber then," the boyish voice gasped. "I knew it, but that's fine, you know, you just have to promise to leave without taking anything, and you'll be fine, I won't give you away."

The ropes now gone, Sam massaged his wrists, wincing as he did so. "I can't leave without it," he tried to explain. "It's very important."

"You don't mean to say you were really sent by the Great Mother?" the little voice said suspiciously.

Sam sighed, feeling a twinging feeling in his gut as he lied again. "Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"I guess then… I guess that's okay. Follow me, I know where it is, everyone does."

One of the small, soft little hands curled around his fingers, and Sam was drawn away to the outskirts of the "city."

OO

"It glows," the boy whispered in awe. They were standing just inside of an ancient temple, _Taironian_, the boy had said. Sam felt his own breathing catch when he saw it.

The tablet was there, just beneath what appeared to be an altar, pulsing with a faint bluish glow. Sam had seldom felt so entranced, and he could understand now why the Kogi felt they were guardians of "the heart of the world." The mystical aura around the object was too strong to expect them to have thought anything else.

"Thank you," Sam whispered, going to pick it up.

"But once you take it, what will happen to u_" the boy whispered back, frantically.

Sam never heard the end of his sentence, though, because once he touched the tablet, he was borne away to his next chosen location.

(1)Why does Dean know so much about flowers? Because he lived with Lisa. 'Nuff said.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Whip and Rein of Pride**

_And the Burden of Responsibility_

"_But once you take it, what will happen to u_" the boy whispered back, frantically._

Sam stood by the base of Mount Moriah, stone tablet out of his possession, and mentally completed the sentence.

_But once you take it, what will happen to us?_

His head drooped as the answer came to him. _I just trampled underfoot an entire civilization's belief system in a single day, _he realized.

Even if they believed what he had said, about being sent by the Great Mother, when the boy reported his mystical disappearance… even then he would have torn the foundation upon which they'd built their society, right out from under their feet. They had believed that they were the guardians of the world, keeping the balance by making sacrifices and protecting the Word from outsiders. Now that he'd taken that role away from them…

Would they be able to adapt?

He remembered the words of the girl, the one who had accused him of being the long-dead Columbus. _Come to kill the Mamas, _she said. _Chaos, _she said. And isn't that exactly what he had done? Was that not_ exactly_ what was going to happen when their civilization collapsed, because of him?

_I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry, _he whispered. _Dean _wouldn't have done this. Saving the world or no, he wouldn't have caused anyone innocent to die, even if it would save more lives later. He would have looked for a different way, and would've fought anyone who told him he couldn't find one. Why couldn't Sam do the same? Why _didn't _he?

_ Please_, he prayed, his voice breaking. _I need my brother. Even if he's safe… I… I can't do this. Please…_

He waited, but this time no answer came. Whatever God was doing, he was _not _listening to the pleas of his guilt-ridden prophet. So it was that Sam stumbled onwards up the mountain, vowing to himself to never make the mistake of asking for the mercy of anyone ever again. Vowing to never allow another innocent to die, regardless of the consequences. He couldn't ask for help anymore, and he couldn't afford to make mistakes.

_He was well and truly on his own._

OO

Castiel was beginning to understand Dean's fear of flight, which had before always seemed incomprehensible. As it turned out, the difference between _flying _and _being flown_ was astronomical, and it all had to do with _control._

Clutching the feet of the eagle in a white-knuckled grip, Castiel decided he much preferred to be the one doing the flying.

The great eagle tore upwards into the sky, gaining altitude at a rate likely matching that of a rocket launcher. The air resistance snapped Castiel's head downwards, so although his eyes smarted, he was able to watch the corpse of the serpent on the ground below as it shrunk and disappeared, all in a moment. The thought of it brought another hysterical laugh bubbling to Castiel's lips. He's seen Dean triumph over stacked odds before, been personal witness to it more times than he cared to count. But killing the Serpent was supposed to be literally _impossible_, and Dean had managed it with no clever plan or quick thinking on his part… He had just gotten angry and done the stupidest thing he could possibly have done, and _succeeded._ It was absurd.

Castiel couldn't wrap his mind around it. Every rule that governed his universe was systematically violated, time and time and time again, by the same single person…

Then his mind shuddered to a halt.

OO

Anyone knowing Crowley is aware of his infamous attraction to places of wealth and corruption. Sam was nonetheless surprised to find him within The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, muttering the Lord's Prayer while surreptitiously pocketing alms.

…_Lead them into temptation, and deliver them to evil…_

Not that he was saying it _correctly_.

"Crowley," Sam said, without inflection. The moment his eyes alighted on the demon, an idea had been born, and that idea required him to make a dangerous power play. "This is hardly your usual hideout. I see the irony though… seeking shelter in a church building."

OO

Castiel was in a delirium when they touched down, eyes shut, screaming something about _fire, _and _light, _and _burning. _Dean was in somewhat of a delirium, too. _We'regonnadie, _he thought, and he tried shaking Castiel's arm, to snap him out of… whatever it was he was going through. It didn't work.

The eagle ducked its head, turning to the side so that one huge yellow orb could look upon the hunter. Dean began to hear a ringing in his ears, which grew progressively louder, until he was writhing on the ground, his head throbbing. Gradually the ringing settled into words, spoken as if directly into his mind.

_I am acuila, _it said.

Dean didn't reply. Multicolored spots were gathering along the edges of his vision.

_I took the sleeping man and bore him that he might wake to see his hope ahead. To you are given the keys to the Gate. To him, the keys to Paradise. If he falters, you must urge him, but never carry him where he can walk himself. Do not look back, or you will find yourself again at the beginning._

The raptor's eye turned away then, and it advanced deliberately toward where Castiel lay prone on the rock, still muttering about _fire_. With its talons, it carved seven Ps into his forehead, and with each letter, the man seemed to quiet. By some miracle, the wounds didn't bleed, but instantaneously scabbed over and became scars. When the eagle had completed its work, it again took flight, vanishing from vision just as suddenly as it had arrived earlier.

Dean was too weak to protest. With great effort, he lifted his arm, finding enclosed in his fist two keys; one gold, and the other silver. After forcing himself into a kneeling position, he could see where they went to; a great metal gate lay ahead, with three multi-colored step leading to it. _This is too weird, _he thought. _Even for me, this is way, __**way **__too weird. Freaking talking animals from Narnia… So weird…_

"Cas," he rasped, crawling over to the angel and shaking him slightly. "You've got to get up, man. There's, like, this bird named Lucia who wants me to take you outta here, I think. C'mon."

Castiel's eyes blinked open slowly, his face contorting as an unhappy child's does when woken at an ungodly hour. "There was a fire," he said. "We flew into a _fire_."

"Nightmare, Cas. We all have 'em."

"I don't…"

OO

Crowley's spine stiffened when Sam spoke, but when he turned to face him, it was with his trademark snarky grin.

"Well, look who's out of the States," Crowley said, voice exuding goodwill. A perceptive ear might detect the barbs underlying his words, but Sam felt rather unconcerned at the moment. "Come looking for a prophet?"

"Not a prophet. Something else. I need to get my brother out of Purgatory, and I know you know how to do it."

Crowley's smile froze, and he cocked his head, giving Sam a look as if to say _Are you completely daft?_ "Sorry, no can do, moose. Assuming I _do _have the foggiest, there's not a thing in the world you could offer me in return."

A slow smile worked its way onto Sam's face. He had him. "You'd be surprised. How about a deal? Information for information."

"_You're _proposing a deal? To _me? _That's ambitious, even for you."

OO

The Gate, a single opening in an encircling rampart, had adopted all the winsome qualities a bottle of ordinary water does to a man who has spent a week in the desert. Castiel was able to walk most of the way to it, stumbling only once, just before he reached the third step, which appeared to be made of scarlet porphyry. Dean had managed to catch him before he could dash his head against the lowermost step and had carried him, _not in a princess carry, thankyouverymuch_, over the third and final step to the Gate entrance. He set him down there, and turned to the locks of the gate. It was easy to see which key corresponded to which lock, the only thing was…

"These are useless," he sighed, tossing the keys away. "The first lock's rusted through, and the other one's broken. If we're gonna get outta here, we're gonna have to crawl through that opening."

He nodded over to where the Gate had been shoved open at the bottom, just wide enough to admit a full grown man, if he lay flat on his back and slid inside. It looked like a struggle, in any case. The monsters that did it must have been _desperate._

OO

Crowley accepted Sam's proposal, as Sam knew he would. He could see the King of Hell squirming as he did so, every instinct telling him that it wasn't a good idea, but his pride prevented him from backing down.

"I know you're hiding from something, Crowley, and I know what it is. God seems to have taken a renewed interest in the planet, and that spells disaster for you. During his absence all sorts of vermin have infested his house, and now that he's back… well, what are the chances that he's _not _going to call the exterminator? Castiel might have put you on a leash, but it's annihilation that you're facing now. The _only _reason you haven't been killed yet is because he hasn't noticed you."

Crowley's dark eyes had narrowed to glittering slits as Sam spoke. "I'm not as powerless as all that," he snarled. "I can still call down an army, and I can still set them on _you_. What's your point?"

"You don't want to know how I know that? After God set Kevin free, he came to me. Called me as a prophet, actually, which means, as I'm sure you know, _a direct link to the Man Upstairs. _I could snap my fingers and lead him directly to you. Now, the information I want from you is, _what prevents me?_"

Crowley's lips had thinned, his jaw ticked with barely concealed fury. He made it a habit to never underestimate the Winchesters, but the feeling of being beaten at his own game… it _incensed _him. Sam bloody Winchester may have succeeded in winning this battle, but he had made himself into Crowley's new number one enemy, and that would bloody well come back to bite him.

"There's one spell that should bring your dear brother back…"

OO

Even more difficult than wriggling under the Gate was navigating the inky-black passageway that lay beyond. It pitched and rolled, twisted and dropped in ways that Dean felt sick just thinking about. His head had hit rock enough times for him to be reasonably certain that he'd sustained permanent damage, and, judging from Castiel's grunts behind him, the angel was faring no better.

"Never thought I'd be saying this, but I _really wish _you could fly us out of here," he said sadly, rubbing his arm. Castiel just _oofed_, as his face collided with another outcropping of rock.

When they finally emerged the torturous needle's eye tunnel, they had lost a good deal of strength, and had accumulated enough bruises to look like they'd just participated in a barroom brawl. With trolls.

"I don't understand," Castiel said. "The eagle _spoke_ to you?"

"Thought at me, more like," Dean said, shrugging. "I don't get it either, but she didn't seem to want to hurt us, though she did scratch you up a bit."

Castiel traced the letters on his forehead thoughtfully. "Did she say anything important?"

"Not much I could understand. She said not to look back, and… well, I don't know. She said a bit about keys." He didn't tell Castiel that the great bird had told him he must help him, because that seemed like it would be awkward. Too awkward.

Castiel nodded, and took a moment to scan their surroundings. They seemed to be on a cornice, which curled around the mountain at a uniform length. To the left he could see the remains of what must have been three exquisitely carved bas reliefs, and to the right an assortment of large boulders. After noting that the boulders weren't stacked high enough to allow them to scale the cliff face, Castiel turned his attention to a crude drawing immediately in front of him. It was hurriedly done, but it appeared to depict a man carrying one of the boulders, and crawling around the side of the mountain. The drawing caught Dean's attention as well.

"I think there's writing underneath," he said, taking a few steps towards it to see more clearly. "_The higher a soul raises itself in pride, the more it is crushed to the earth. Only when a soul is stooped in humility will a pass appear._ _**Seriously?**_"

Castiel assumed that the last part hadn't actually been written on the cliff face. "It appears," he said, "That Cato was right. The rules of Purgatory are still in effect. I suppose that this is one of them. In order to open the pass, I must pick up one of the boulders there and walk to it."

Dean didn't ask why Castiel felt he had to be the one do it. He knew he didn't want to hear the answer.

OO

Crowley had left as soon as he was able, which Sam supposed was to be expected. There was no point in hanging around while Sam still had leverage; there was no telling what _else_ he might threaten Crowley into doing, while he had the chance.

_Simple magic tends to be the most powerful, _Crowley had told him. _Blood magic is the simplest of all. All you need is a bit of your blood, a bit of his blood, and a white lily. Set it all on fire, say his name, and __**presto! **__You've been reunited. Probably haven't heard of it because of the fatality rates. Use it more than once, you die, try to bring someone back from the dead, you die, but somehow people keep on forgetting that… and of course, it only works on blood relatives, you understand._

Meaning it wouldn't bring back Castiel.

Assembling the ingredients had been easy enough; Dean had never been very successful at pulling the bloodstains out of his clothing, which is why he took to wearing darker colors so quickly. But now that he was ready to do the magic, lighter in his hand, he wavered.

Dean would never forgive him.

He'd promised himself to never allow another innocent to die.

But this was different, wasn't it? Maybe not. But it was easy to make a promise like that when he was emotionally charged. The fact was that he should save the lives that he _could_, and if someone's doom was inevitable, than he should just save _the greater amount of lives_. Thinking about it like that, finding the Word at the expense of the Kogi was the right decision. Saving Dean and leaving Castiel would be the right decision. Saving one life is better than condemning two, isn't it? Only… only….

Dean would find a different way.

There was no telling if Crowley wasn't lying about blood magic being the only sure way to rescue someone from Purgatory. Crowley was untrustworthy; Dean kept _saying _that, but what if he wasn't? And even if he was, who was to say he shouldn't just save Dean _now_, and they could both find a way to save Castiel together?

Except Dean wouldn't forgive him, not even if he made that decision. He'd want Sam to dismiss the _idea _of saving him, and him alone. He'd say, correctly, that Sam was making excuses. _But I have to do everything that I'm able to bring you back, _Sam thought. _If I discard this one opportunity and never find another, how will I be able to live with myself? _

_ If I do this and find that I could have done something else, how will I live with myself?_

_ Dean never wins at chess_, Sam remembered. He was always so reluctant to sacrifice a piece, that Sam could decimate his entire side, put him in checkmate in a matter of minutes. _But is life a chess game?_

Sam remembered the virgin. Dean had refused to make that sacrifice, too, and everyone had died. In the town with the witch, he'd saved some lives at the expense of a seal. How many more people wouldn't have died if the Apocalypse had never happened? It was only when he had _allowed _Sam to jump into the Cage that it had ended, only when he made a sacrifice that his side was able to win.

It was perfectly logical, perfectly reasonable and right to bring his brother back, even if Castiel had to remain in Purgatory forever. It was wrong, but it had to be less wrong than keeping them _both _in there. And Dean was his _brother_.

But somehow, Sam still couldn't do it. He threw the lighter away from him unopened, and stalked back to the church to complete the business he'd come there for in the first place. People were attracted to places of sanctity, and The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was a hotbed for Christians. And in all likelihood, taking away the Stone of Anointing wouldn't cause any fatalities.

_Unless, of course, they blame it on another religious denomination, like the Muslims…_

A sob wrenched itself from Sam's throat involuntarily. _I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry…._

OO

Dean didn't think that Castiel could do it, but he did. Somehow he managed to maneuver one of the boulders into a secure place on his back, where he held it and his knees _didn't _buckle under the weight. In a horrible sort of way, it was amazing. Watching him, Dean felt suddenly much too light. _Let me help you, _he wanted to demand. He didn't. _Cas is tough, _he reassured himself.

Castiel grit his teeth, nearly bent over double beneath his burden. "Now we walk," he growled.

They walked at an excruciatingly slow pace, every yard or so they passing a carving in the ground. These were worn away almost to nothing, but Dean thought he could make out scenes of people being struck down by God for different prideful acts. He didn't find the carvings very comforting, and he doubted Castiel felt any differently.

_Let me help you, _he thought. "Why aren't there any monsters here?" he asked.

Castiel tried to keep his voice level, and he mostly succeeded. "I believe the monsters that managed to get past the Gate found ways of getting past these lower levels, as well. It is my guess that they would be contained in the upper levels."

"Upper levels," Dean groaned. He immediately felt guilty about it.

Dean could swear they had circled the cornice at least three times, but they still hadn't seen a pass. Their "hike" was looking more and more like a death march. It was obviously taking all of Castiel's willpower to just put one foot in front of the other, and finally Dean reached the point where he couldn't take it anymore.

"Let me help you," he said, trying not to sound too freaked out. "It'll seem lighter"

"Dean."

"No, seriously. I mean, it's not like I'm not prideful. I brag to Sam all the time about things. I tend to think I'm right about everything, heck, I can be a hypocrite…" Dean realized he was rambling, but he couldn't stop.

"Dean. No. It's fine." Castiel put all the force he could muster into the command, but it came out sounding tired and halfhearted. He couldn't allow Dean to do this for him. They were _his_ mistakes; he _had _to be the one who paid for them. Not Dean.

"You know, I'm getting sick of all this _I-can-do-it-on-my-own-I'm-an-angel-of-the-Lord _crap," Dean snapped. "I _get _it, alright? And it's not true. You are _not _all powerful so why, dammit, _why _can't you just _let me help you_? Do you think I can't? Do you realize that's why we're in this mess in the first place?"

Bile rose in Castiel's throat. _I don't need this from you, _he thought angrily. "**No**," he said. "I _don't _think you can't. I think you _shouldn't_."

"That," Dean seethed, "Is the stupidest thing I ever heard."

And all in a moment, Castiel saw it. He'd always thought, that if the opportunity presented itself and he could rewind time all the way back to the day when he saw Dean raking leaves in Lisa's backyard, that he would change things, that he would ask Dean for help and never agree to Crowley's deal. But the thing was… he _wouldn't_. There was nothing that could bring him to take away the one chance at happiness Dean had, and nothing which would convince him he wasn't strong enough to find some other way of defeating Raphael. He would say yes to Crowley… every time…

He wasn't strong enough to do it on his own. He wasn't then, and he wasn't now; he was about to be crushed underneath of the weight of the boulder, he was likely going to break his spine, his neck or some ribs, and he was going to be pinned down for good. And even though Dean never deserved to be dragged back into hunting, even though Dean didn't deserve to share the weight of the rock which seemed to hold all of Castiel's guilt… there was nothing altruistic about killing himself. Nothing at all.

Saying the word was more difficult than he ever imagined it would be. It went against everything in his nature; it was literally _painful_ to speak it. _Never admit weakness_, he remembered Zechariah saying, and he'd tried…

"I'm going to fall in a moment," Castiel gasped. "If you… want to help carry… please do…"

He didn't know what he expected. Something in him shattered when he said it, but otherwise, nothing happened. No lightning struck him from above. Zechariah didn't appear and cut off his wings. Dean didn't even say a word.

He just ducked down, and helped him carry the rock, relieving him from half, if not more of the weight.

Neither of them saw it, but a few meters ahead, a pass seemed to materialize in the cliff face, at the same time a P vanished from Castiel's forehead.

**A/N: Please review. Sam won't smile until you do. Dean and Castiel will never notice the pass until you do. Crowley will never sing "Oh Danny Boy" until you do. For their sakes… **


	9. Chapter 9

**Fuji, Fiji, and Blind Faith **

_** Disclaimer: No named characters belong to me. I'm allergic to writing OCs I also realized recently that drinking, sexual conduct, and profanity doesn't exactly fit under the K+ category. My bad.**_

The thing about blood magic was that it had no time restrictions. It wasn't a "once in a blue moon" type ritual, so just because Sam couldn't do it the one night didn't mean that the temptation didn't remain, that he didn't wake up _every day _and have to make the decision all over again. It was beginning to wear on him, and made him wish for a black-and-white situation, a damn normal _hunt_ more than anything else in the world.

Which is why when Visu, the woodsman Sam had spoken to before climbing Mt. Fuji, had alluded to troubles in the area regarding tengu-demons, Sam had leapt at the opportunity to do some bona-fide ganking, if only to pull his mind away from his more transcendental concerns. The irony of tengu-hunting serving to achieve this end was not lost on him, and he supposed that his life had really grown convoluted, if the supernatural was truly his only remaining tie to reality.

And indeed, his tengu-demon case, despite being in a foreign country, looked pretty straightforward. It turned out that the tengu were not former ghosts, as some of the legends had lead Sam to believe, but run-of-the-mill demons with a motif: possessing women in order to win the souls of local priests. It was a more creative spin on the standard "kiss and deal" routine, Sam had to admit, for the priests never even realized what they were doing with their souls when they succumbed to the charms of the possessed, and unfailingly attractive, women. It was neat, clean, and horrifying in its simplicity. He looked forward to ending the operation.

Sam didn't even have to worry about being rebuked for deviating from his primary mission, for God hadn't contacted the prophet in eons. For the last three tablets Sam had received no guidance, and indeed there was not even a sign that the deity was still alive, other than the fact that every tablet Sam acquired mysteriously disappeared almost as soon as it was retrieved. He began booking flight tickets to get from location to location; a risky move for his credit card scams, but one that had to be made, if he wasn't going to be shipped around the world on the God-express anymore. He had begun to resent His absence, and wondered, not for the first time, whether there was an ulterior motive behind His rekindled interest in the survival of the planet. Sam couldn't discern the workings of the deity's mind, couldn't get a reading on him like he could with most, and this made him irritable. He grew increasingly suspicious of the way God had portrayed himself to him upon their first meeting. _What are the chances that this really is the guy from fourth period protecting his science project? If that were the case, why didn't he intercede during the Apocalypse? _

But even with his doubts, Sam _did _intend to carry out the task he was assigned, because all indications showed that there _was_ something awful going on, and it likely _did_ have to do with the Word. He couldn't very well refuse to help when billions of lives were at stake. He just wished he could be sure of what he was doing. After Lillith, he had difficulty believing in anything he couldn't confirm himself, and this was no exception.

It occurred to him that Crowley might have been of some assistance in figuring out what God was up to. If he'd enlisted his help in this regard, rather than outright intimidating him… it might have been a more fruitful venture. Why couldn't he have thought of that before?

In a moment, his tengu-demon hunt turned into something less black and white. Crowley's lackeys were likely tracking God's movements, Sam knew. Crowley's self-preservation instinct ensured this. And with his newfound intimidation factor as a Prophet of the Lord… he might be able to "inspire" some information out of them.

OO

Crowley chartered a jet to Fiji once formalities Downstairs concluded, eager to enjoy the privacy of his beachside manor. It was one of his _nicer_ hidey-holes topside, if not quite as luxurious as the one he had situated in Jerusalem.

The meeting had been a _disaster_. The thing Crowley most hated about demons_ besides the extraordinary lack of imagination which afflicted the majority_ was how very like attack dogs they were. The only way to keep them in line is to either set them on someone or scare them into submission; and ever since the Castiel-Leviathan fiasco, Crowley was looking less like a handler and more like a meal to his underlings Below. He liked to believe he had it under control, but since the God-crisis began, dissention in the ranks only grew, and Crowley's influence was beginning to fray at the edges. So it was with extreme reluctance that he broke his generalized non-interference policy and called a conference with some of the most powerful demons in Hell to talk about recent game-changers.

"_I don't see why the Winchester man should be avoided," Damien, former Duke of the Sixth Circle said lazily, twirling his finger through the non-substance substance of Hell with practiced nonchalance. Crowley privately suspected that he was the leader of the larger part of the opposition in Hell, which was precisely the reason he was made into one of Crowley's trusted confidants, when he should have been killed long ago for being a prick. "He is neither a hindrance nor a help, now that the irate angel and the Leviathan have both been taken out of circulation." _

"_He's working with a __**bigger player, **__I told you," Crowley hissed, pointedly ignoring the sharp looks his other inferiors were giving him with the not-so-subtle mention of the Castiel-Leviathan debacle. He couldn't keep Damien from gaining sympathizers, perhaps, but he could certainly keep from acknowledging them. "It would be grade-A stupidity to kill him before we know exactly how he factors into the equation. If our intelligence were living up to its name, maybe it would be keeping closer tabs on the Winchester instead of allowing him to make alliances __**without my knowledge.**__"_

_Mudgett, Former Head of Torture and Current Leader of Intelligence, looked briefly guilty, but he schooled it expertly into an offended expression before anyone could notice. It was true that he spend the majority of his time amassing followers in the growing resistance movement against Crowley, rather than actually doing his job. He had been nursing a grudge ever since Crowley had reorganized Hell into "a more efficient pattern," ousting all of the torturing positions in favor of the simple containment process and frustration of a __**line.**__ Crowley claimed that this allowed more manpower to be mustered into "proselytizing," but he seemed to forget that most demons were inherently sadistic, and enjoyed __**personally **__inflicting pain on the souls of Hell. Particularly Mudgett._

"_One begins to wonder if you are not simply in league with the Winchesters," Cain boomed accusatorially. He was one of the few traditionalist Lucifer-logic demons Crowley couldn't afford to kill on his first go-round, mainly because he had the good sense to betray his former master, when everyone believed he was slated to be his next-in-command. His support was too great a boon for Crowley to eliminate him, which is exactly the way Cain had played it to happen. It looked more and more as if he was vying to wrest control from the King of Hell, if Damien didn't get to the crown first. "You give them your blood, your protection, your knowledge… these are not the actions of a King of Hell; these are the actions of a __**friend**__. If I remember correctly, it was even their assistance which allowed you to come into your exalted station. To what degree, then, are you repaying that debt? How many decisions regarding Hell's future are made by humans?"_

_A collective gasp was quickly stifled by every demon in the room. Crowley grit his teeth. "You know what the circumstances were," he growled. As much as he hated dipping his hand in with the traitors that were his minions, he preferred it infinitely to the looming doom which God represented. Once he got himself out of __**that **__predicament, __**then **__he could destroy Cain for so impetuously implying that he was a human-lover. Damien at least possessed enough reserve to stop short of outright insubordination. "But it is of no matter. The Winchesters are no wild card; they are not experienced in subterfuge, or motivated by self-interest. Therefore, it should be advantageous to watch the next moves of the Winchester. If by the movements of this pawn we can discern the intentions of the enemy, it is all the better for us to remain discreet."_

_The other demons in the room were visibly impressed by Crowley's sudden eloquence, unhampered by his usual humor and double-entendre. More importantly, the whisper of danger underneath his words made them remember, for a moment, why they decided to let __**him **__lead Hell in the first place. Cain was growing purple in the face, and Damien looked as if he was about to doze off. Mudgett, seeing that his chances at advancing his own agenda were slipping away, decided that, at long last, it was time to speak._

"_I believe Cain has raised a significant point," he said, flinching as he realized that he had shown his true colors. He was reasonably confident his own support base was substantial enough to render Crowley impotent, but this didn't prevent him from breaking out into a cold sweat when the demon turned in his direction. To keep from having to look at him, Mudgett spoke to the room at large. "Crowley has specialized in the makings of contracts for centuries, seducing even creatures of power with his words. If we are to believe him, we must look to his actions rather than his presentation, and what he proposes now boils down to this: Once again a human, a hunter, no less, will be marked out of bounds. What does this action say about our King?"_

_ "DO YOU THINK NOW IS THE TIME FOR A BLOODY REVOLUTION?" Crowley shouted. He had lost his temper and recognized his opposition, but he could see now that failing to do that would only make him look more incompetent. Or traitorous. "THERE IS MORE AT STAKE HERE THAN YOUR AMBITIONS AND PETTY FEUDS!"_

_ Mudgett gulped audibly, as the other demons shifted uneasily in their seats. No other objections were raised, and the meeting was concluded hastily. They would do as Crowley instructed. Mudgett fully realized that his chances of survival were dependent now on how well he did his job, so he organized an intelligence party to gather information on God's movements._

_ Crowley had the sudden urge to get very, very drunk._

_ "_Absinthe. Verte." Crowley croaked as he walked inside his long-neglected, but nonetheless impressive house in Fiji. He wasn't sure if he was even speaking to anyone, but the drink appeared in his hand within a few moments.

"I've had some good memories with you," he cooed, sitting down heavily in an armchair. He could set up the sigils later. 1988 was the last time he'd tasted this particular concoction, and he'd been in France, then.

OO

The path no longer twisted, but the walls on both sides of the pass swelled and closed around Castiel like a cage. He felt somehow suffocated, and the feeling of not being able to fly away sent cold jolts of panic down his spine. He thought it would help if with each step it didn't get darker, and darker. And other emotions, ones stirred up by his conversation with Dean, roiled around his ankles, not able to be named or comprehended by the still-alien intellect of the angel.

In an attempt to restore his usual, inner calm, he conjured up a thought: the same one that had once saved him from Lucifer's torment, before it was twisted and bent into his own unique brand of madness. He thought of himself where he was, then, his relation in size in the world, the cosmos, and finally the large organism that was the universe itself. _What are my concerns compared with that of the universe? To God, I must seem to be nothing more important or predictable then a bee, so why must I imagine my fears to be any larger?_

It worked; he could feel his fear seeping away, unable to feed on him when he shrank himself down to size. Utterly composed, he reflected if this wasn't the primary problem of people and angels: thinking they were so much greater than they were.

It was some time, and pitch dark before their journey ended. Castiel couldn't see anything, so when Dean stopped, he continued, almost knocking him over.

"Hey!"

"I am sorry," Castiel apologized. "I didn't know you stopped."

"Must've been daydreaming pretty heavily there, fella," Dean laughed easily. "I was right there in front of you, how could you not see?"

OO

It took some time, but Crowley was finally able to get himself into that state of lucid drunkenness he so appreciated, back at absinthe's conception. It tasted like licorice on his tongue, and slid down his throat like green ambrosia. It was beautiful, it was just what he needed, it was…

"I see you're taking full advantage of your off time," a timorous tenor voice said. Crowley's eyes were pulled upwards to the youthful face of the prophet he had formerly kidnapped.

He glanced at his empty glass, then back at Kevin. "I thought this wasn't hallucinogenic," he said.

OO

Castiel's eyes were milky, as if heavy cataracts had materialized over them. After briefly freaking out, Dean led him over to the side of the small cave entrance, so that he could feel the wall, and began pacing.

"There's no reason to be concerned," Castiel said, tranquility oozing out of his voice. It rankled Dean; he didn't like to feel as if he was the only one worried about the situation. "Doubtless this has something to do with being on the Cornice of Envy. Are there any instructions for proceeding?"

Dean had found another rough drawing on the wall ahead, but it made even less sense than the first one. It didn't look like it belonged there, either, which made Dean wonder if the drawings weren't some strange Underground Railroad for monsters looking to get out of Purgatory. Or someone playing a sick joke. Inscribed underneath a picture Dean couldn't begin to figure out, were the words t_hey have no wine_. Which wasn't exactly helpful.

"Nothing helpful, but it's really made me long for a drink," he said, sitting down beside the blind angel, and leaning in to make sure his words were heard. "Times like this, I'd usually just start drinking until something came to me or I passed out. Didn't really have a preference which came first. Sometimes Sam would join me for a bit. I miss that." He sighed.

There was silence for a while. "You miss your brother," Castiel said, finally. He sounded sad.

"Yeah. I do." This was an understatement. There was a Sam-shaped hole in his gut, and it hurt like _anything_. Dean felt all _wrong _without a Sam-presence in his life, and he couldn't even begin to explain it, although he had the feeling that Castiel understood. That was the comforting thing about him.

"I wish… I wish I could help."

OO

Absinthe had the odd effect of making Crowley _happy_, so when God revealed himself to be possessing the body of the kid Crowley had imprisoned and tortured… Crowley didn't freak out. He didn't brace himself for some Almighty smiting.

He smiled.

"Lovely to see you," he said, indicating for God to sit down in a nearby armchair. "I don't suppose you just dropped by… for a visit?"

God didn't sit down. He looked at Crowley like he was an extremely interesting insect he had just pinned to a board. "I came with a proposition."

"You know," Crowley slurred only slightly. "You know I've learned recently… that it's never a good sign… when someone comes to you with a pro-proposition."

OO

"So… Envy," Dean said, munching idly at some berries he'd managed to forage on the smaller cornice. No one said they couldn't take a break while they figured things out. "How'd you get that?"

"I believe that Purgatory is laid out according to what are called the Seven Deadly Sins. It follows that after Pride, the most severe of the crimes, would come Envy."

Dean mulled this over for a minute. It seemed strange to him that the most severe crimes were nearest the bottom. "So you're saying you're blind because you're like, Obadiah Stane? I get that some angels have more wings than you, but still…"

Castiel chose to ignore the pop-culture reference. He'd gotten to the point where he realized that his ability to communicate actually wasn't handicapped by lack of knowledge in those areas, however Dean tried to make him feel otherwise. He also thought it prudent not to remind Dean that all of the angels he knew of were dead. "I've never coveted the wings of my superiors."

"What, then?"

Castiel threaded his fingers together uneasily. "I don't think you'd understand. It's a… soul."

OO

Negotiations went surprisingly smoothly. God said that he could smite Crowley at any time, told him to keep his nose out of his business, yada yada yada. This was all expected.

But here was the kicker: Providing Crowley abided by the terms of their contract, he also granted all demons full immunity from the interference of hunters.

"So this is what? Job?" Crowley asked, incredulity working past his drunken stupor. He had blankly listened to all of the deity's demands, but this…

"Lucifer was my _son,_" God said pointedly.

Crowley was feeling brave. "I can understand why you don't want my lot interfering in your affairs, but, might I ask, why not simply blast us all away? Save a lot of trouble, that."

God favored him with a pitying glance. "What can I say? I… keep my son's drawings on the refrigerator."

This didn't ring true for Crowley. No, if that were the case, then God wouldn't be so concerned about keeping Crowley from prying, would he? There was something else going on, but there was no harm in making his operations idiot-proof, getting rid of the hunter factor. Besides, he'd already found the obvious loophole.

"Sure. No demon operatives spying into your Plan, full immunity for us. Why not."

They drank to the deal. Or, more accurately, Crowley drank, and God vanished. Crowley wasn't bothered; he knew heavenly forces didn't have an ounce of decorum.

He felt oddly eager, in spite of the fact that he would have to call _another _meeting in Hell with the new information, and his new plan. The new challenge presented him was so bright and promising… he could forget his back-stabbing subordinates entirely, with this. This looked good.

Downing another drink, Crowley began to sing.

_Oh, Crowley boy, the pipes the pipes are calling…_

OO

"Ooh, Takahashi-sensei," the woman said, in between a stream of profanity and lewd, suggestive words. Her bosom was pressed against the priest's face, and he was visibly overcome.

Moving down and pressing a kiss into his neck, she murmured. "Are you willing… to relinquish your soul… for this… right now?"

With a hardly controlled scream of lust, the priest responded to her provocation, ravishing her with kisses, allowing his hands to trail down the sides of her body.

_Yes yes yes yes, _he said, whenever he had time to breathe. It should have been a more difficult decision to make, but it was so _easy, _when Miyu-chan was obviously so _willing…_

Sam burst into the room, demon-killing knife in hand. With a feral snarl, the possessed Miyu whirled to face the hunter, leaving a flushed and confused priest wide-eyed on the floor.

Then Sam disappeared.

With a shrug and a smile, Miyu turned back to her prey, ripping his soul out of his body. It was so much easier this way, without complicated long-term contracts, without all the desperate running and hiding when the human's time ran out.

Sam, back at the base of Mt. Fuji, was raging.

_You can't pull me out like that! I'm __**on **__it, I'm __**doing **__what you asked me to! There are people __**dying **__down there; it's kind of an immediate concern!_

_**People have died since the Beginning.**_

There was nothing more after that, but every time Sam tried to leave the mountain, he was brought right back. Finally, with a scream of rage, he began to climb, so that he could retrieve one of the godforsaken tablets he had grown to hate, and get as far away from Japan as possible.

OO

"Last I remember, you didn't really care much about souls," Dean said sourly. "You didn't seem to think Sam needed one."

"I never had a soul," Castiel agreed. "I thought he would be healthier without it. I was wrong."

"You've never been eager to be human, either."

Castiel sighed. This was going to take some explaining. "No, but not for the reasons you think. My Grace is what has bound me to my siblings, what has made me useful, and much of the time, I genuinely… enjoy being what I am. But Dean… I've watch humans for millennia_"

_Not very closely, _Dean thought. _Otherwise you'd have known about The King._

"_and souls afford a human things that an angel can never have. They… have a unique _energy_, they generate their own Heavens, they're resilient, beautiful. Different."

Dean tried not to think about how creepy it was that his friend craved _souls. _It brought back a few unpleasant memories. "Well," he said awkwardly.

"And occasionally, they bind together, and… wait."

Castiel's face seemed to be alight with some secret knowledge, which immediately made Dean suspicious. "What?"

"You and your brother… you shared a heaven when you died, correct?"

"Yeah." _What's your point?_

"That happens sometimes, and only with… with soulmates. Souls spend their entire existences looking for their other half. Do you understand?" Castiel's hands were waving around a little in the air, as if to emphasize his words.

"No…" Dean remembered, vaguely, Ash saying something along those same lines. He had dismissed it at the time.

"You always miss your brother when you're separated, but it's… more than usual. I know. I believe I can fix that." Castiel was beaming. It was worrisome.

"How's that?"

"If your souls are bound together, then you won't ever feel separated. In fact, you could remain in contact, a sort of empathetic link, if you will. It might even help us find a way out of here."

OO

Crowley still sent his operatives to watch Sam Winchester, because there were no rules against _that. _Until he found that there were. Then he saw it: There was no advantage to his side through the deal with God, it was God's advantage being played, both ways. By doing away with interaction between demon and hunter, he was double-ensuring that his plans weren't meddled with.

_Damn iiiit…_

But it was okay. Crowley still had a plan. It just required the involvement of a trustworthy third party. He wondered how he was going to convince the other demons this was the best course of action.

OO

Castiel had tried to explain how what he proposed was indeed possible. "_Souls are free moving," _he said. "_The only way to trap a soul is to __**convince **__it that it's been trapped. There would be no Hell if souls knew they were free. It's surprisingly easy to free a couple of souls, and bind them together."_

_ Dean had difficulty wrapping his mind around it. "Wait, if souls are so easy to free, why can't I just fly out of Purgatory?"_

_ "I understand there are certain benefits to having your soul attached to your body." _

So here they were, Castiel all sunny at the idea of permanently fixing his separation-anxiety, and he was getting more flustered by the minute.

"Cas, I… I don't want to be permanently welded to my brother." Dean said, flinching. He knew how strange his words sounded. In many ways, it _was _exactly what he wanted, but it wasn't something he could do. Ever.

"I don't understand. You'd feel much happier. Complete."

Dean closed his eyes, longsuffering. "I know, and I get that it would be helpful to us, but… that kind of thing is _permanent_, Cas. And I… I want to be me, still, sometimes. All me, not Sam-and-Dean, together. Know what I mean?"

"Not really." Again, that strange sadness.

"I can't do it. Thank you, I'm… sorry… but I can't."

Dean turned to him then, his eyes looking strangely bright when before they were clouded. "If there was anything…"

Inexplicably, a P vanished from his forehead and a pass opened up behind them, and they fell backwards onto the first steps.

**A/N: Sorry, no Sam smiling yet. He's too pissed. However, if you visit this lengthy link, you will behold his famous puppy eyes, which exhort you to review this chapter. Do you **_**really **_**want to deny that face? **_**Do **_**you?**

** imgres?q=sam+puppy+eyes&num=10&hl=en&biw=1440&bih=728&tbm=isch&tbnid=jAvXRoZcn_ZD5M:&imgrefurl= threads/45175-Jared-Padalecki-Thunk-Thread/page9&docid=neu866jSNme-tM&imgurl= . &w=717&h=403&ei=Z9ftT9WwGaXY6gGDr9meCg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=159&vpy=294&dur=443&hovh=157&hovw=268&tx=179&ty=95&sig=110700314853807351101&page=1&tbnh=121&tbnw=161&start=0&ndsp=28&ved=1t:429,r:7,s:0,i:97**


	10. Chapter 10

**Suspicions, Spirits, and Satanism Part 1: Suspense**

**A/N: Not the complete chapter, but writing an OC drained me so much that I dissolved into a pile of depressed goo before I could finish. So this is what I have so far… **

"_Satanists!" Crowley announced triumphantly, smacking his hands flat on the conference table. "A long underutilized resource."_

_ Mudgett's jaw dropped, but he didn't object. He had been cheerfully informed by an imp on the way in that if he pulled another stunt like the one at the last meeting, he would serve as the appetizer of Crowley's next meal. No amount of support could save him from __**that **__grisly fate._

_ Predictably, it was the entitled imbecile Cain who began to protest. "You'd replace our best intelligence with a bunch of animal-sacrificing, children-molesting __**humans?**__ They aren't even possessed when they commit their atrocities!"_

_ The other demons in the room shuddered, as memories of what they'd heard about the Mcmartin ritual abuse case resurfaced. (1) It was generally agreed among demons that Satanists were extremely stupid; they couldn't think of any other explanation for the humans that willingly worshipped the entity that desired their destruction._

_ "They couldn't tell the difference between you and Lucifer," Damien agreed, yawning._

_ Crowley's smile was evil, and therefore unalarming. "That's rather the point, isn't it? We have an army up there, waiting to be given orders… and we never use it! Willing human servants can only ever be an asset to us… this is particularly evident when viewing our current circumstances."_

_ Unfortunately, however convincing his words were, Crowley had been introducing too many changes to Hell, much too quickly. Demons, being naturally resentful and suspicious of change, could hardly be expected to embrace this logic readily. They glared at him, and it began to look as if he were going to be overthrown right then and there._

_ Damien wasn't stupid though, and knew Crowley was correct in what he said. Seeing an opportunity to diminish the King's standing while avoiding ill-conceived violence, he spoke. "Yes, our current circumstances… Unable to track the Winchester ourselves because of a botched deal with the enemy, we are reduced to relying on human help. Crowley is right in saying that Satanists are our only option. Surely his familiarity with the human psyche will be of great help to him when he recruits their assistance."_

_ Crowley left Hell in disgrace. He was still King by name, but his outburst at the last meeting combined with Damien's skillful maneuvering made it look like he'd lost control. This was a problem, but not one he could deal with immediately._

_ He contained his frustration until he was safely out of earshot. "__**Damn it!**__"_

OO

Castiel's eyes cleared once they left the Cornice of Envy, but he wasn't able to enjoy his restored sight for long. Thick, acrid smoke lay ahead, and it was sure to blind them when they entered into it.

"Does this ever bother you?" Dean asked, staring at in disbelief. "Nothing makes sense here. Whoever came up with this place must've been high."

"That is how I feel much of the time on Earth," Castiel replied.

OO

Molly Nolan pulled her windbreaker tighter around herself, teeth chattering as another brutally cold wind blasted at her back. She was beginning to regret her decision to hike to the local Grotto.

_I should have worn something warmer, _she thought miserably, fingering the crimson card in her pocket.

She also should have straightened her hair. The frizzy orange mass was being thrown every which way in the wind, mostly in her face. Her vision thus obstructed, she almost tripped over the small black poodle that was doggedly tailing the man ahead of her.

"Mephistopheles!" she laughed, bending down to stroke it. The man walking just ahead froze.

OO

"Sorry?" Crowley asked, looking quizzically down at the shivering girl. A poodle bounded away from her and to his side. "Did you say…?"

Pushing back a tangled mess of hair, the girl aimed a warm grin at him. "The dog following you. It reminded me of Faust."

"Oh. Right." he murmured, shaken. Noticing the dog for the first time, he kicked it away. (2) The girl's lips thinned in disapproval. He turned to continue trudging to the Church of Satan, but as he did his eye was caught by a familiar-looking pendant hanging from the girl's neck…

"That's a Baphomet sigil, if I'm not mistaken," he said, recovering his suavity.

Her hand flew to it, and she stood up slowly, her eyes narrowed. "Most people don't know that," she said suspiciously. "Does that mean you're…?"

"Not a Satanist, like yourself. No, something very different. I'm the King of Hell."

There was a long, dramatic pause, in which Crowley prepared to have his feet kissed, and Molly considered calling a mental hospital.

"You're _joking_," she said finally, with a slight, humorless laugh. "Asshole. I'm a _LaVeyan _Satanist, not a religious schizophrenic. You seriously think I believe the Devil is a physical entity?"

Crowley was confused. "It's true," he said, shrugging.

"But that's counterintuitive! The Devil is an emotional character representative of the carnal nature of humanity… nothing more."

OO

Dean's steady stream of complaints spluttered to a halt as they walked inside the choking fumes of Wrath. This was not meant in the metaphorical sense.

He couldn't breathe for coughing, and was getting vivid flashbacks to the time he'd gone after Pestilence. _He'd have a heyday with this. _He and Castiel could do no more than stumble through the evil fog, clutching each other's shoulders for fear of being separated. They were anyway.

Between the smoke and his eyes tearing up, Dean couldn't see anything, but he could certainly _feel _it when his feet were knocked out from under him, and Castiel was pulled away from him and farther into the smoke. Whatever it was seemed impervious to the smoke.

He could feel a force moving him, too… hurtling him to some unknown destination.

"Hold on, boy," a gruff voice said. _Bobby's_ voice.

"Sunuva**COUGH!**"

OO

God looked thoughtfully at the proton accelerator the children of men builded in Switzerland, and Contemplated. This He did for a long time. Finally, He spoke, as if to Himself.

"Behold, the people is one, and they have all one System; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained from them, which they have imagined to do."

He nodded self-satisfactorily. There was only one thing to do. He would Confound their System. (3)

OO

It took some massive evidence for Crowley to establish his credulity, but when he did, Molly was **pissed. **She had left the Mormon faith, over the concerned protests of her parents, and invested 200 dollars in a philosophy which turned out to be founded on… well, nothing. It was irksome, to say the least.

And it looked like she was going to Hell for it, too. She should have become a Catholic.

Crowley had already spoken of his need for an intermediary between the forces of Hell and God, and his need for someone qualified to track down the whereabouts of an elusive heavenly agent named Samuel Winchester. Unfortunately, she _was _qualified. He had also insinuated that she had no choice in the matter, that she was already irrevocably bound to the Forces of Darkness. As an individualist and firm believer in free will, this didn't sit well with her.

"Hold on. You don't expect me to just play along without a quid pro quo, do you? What's in it for me?" _I don't want to go to Hell, _she thought desperately.

Crowley spread his hands before him. "What do you want? _Your _wish… is _my _command."

"All right." She remembered Faust again, and decided to make a reverse-bargain. Goethe be damned, she knew bad things would happen if she asked to live forever. "How about this: I follow your orders while I'm alive, but after I die, you keep your paws of my… soul. I don't fall under Hell's jurisdiction."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. This had to be the _worst _request he'd ever heard. "I guarantee, Miss… no one's going to be lining up for _your _meager soul . Very well. Wish granted. Samuel Winchester's last known location was…"

OO

Turned out the smoke _wasn't_ all-encompassing. There were actually a few clear regions to be found on the Cornice, and it was to one of these that Bobby brought them, using his now well-honed ghost powers.

"Damn, Bobby, they just can't keep you down, can they," Dean breathed, grinning. Castiel's gaze was more penetrating, full of poorly-disguised curiosity. Bobby avoided his eyes and turned to Dean.

"That's the thing, now, innit," Bobby said. "I guess ghosts go same place every other monster does when it dies. Doesn't explain why you're here, though. Don't tell me…" the older hunter's translucent shoulders tensed, and he gave Dean a scathing look.

"Naw, we didn't come here on purpose," Dean said. "We think it had something to do with ganking Dick… we were sucked into a vacuum, or something."

Bobby visibly relaxed. "Nice to know that bastard's dead and buried… just hope he didn't end up anywhere nearby. How long _have _you been here, anyway? I only just found you in the smoke, it cant've been long ago."

Dean's eyebrows drew together, but as he opened his mouth to answer, Castiel touched him on the shoulder, shaking his head.

"'Scuse us," Dean said, rolling his eyes before drawing Castiel away.

"_What's your problem?_" He asked in an undertone. "_Why didn't you want me to answer?_"

"Something's off," Castiel said. "It seems Bobby doesn't know about any other part of Purgatory than this place."

"Why not tell him, then? We can escape together."

"It's not that simple, Dean. He's dead. Do you really want to bring him back? Again? And I feel as if… I feel as if he's keeping something from us. I don't know what, or why."

Dean's fists clenched. "He's our _friend_, Cas. Have you forgotten that? He's stuck in this place same as we are… he should be in Heaven, sure, but he doesn't belong _here_."

"Dean."

"I don't wanna hear it. We are _not _going to just leave him behind! That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"He didn't seem _normal__"

"Like you'd know the difference!"

A few feet away, Bobby's eyes glowed scarlet.

The denizens of Hell are sadly misinformed about most things. For instance, they actually don't know how the trial ended.

Crowley likes hellhounds. Not weak little Earth-dogs. And the only way to establish a villain is to have them kick a puppy, right?

See Genesis 11: 1-9

**A/N: I keep on hearing that this story is "interesting." The frequency with which I'm seeing the word is alarming… is it a good or a bad thing?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Suspicions, Spirits, and Satanism Part 2: Smoke and Scruples**

**A/N: By now you all know that I'm a horrible, **_**horrible **_**lazy person, who will be sent to the Sloth level when I die, and there set up a hammock and sunbathe. This being so, I call attention to last chapter, when God said he would "Confound their System." He actually meant "Confound their Standard Model." Please mentally substitute that in… I don't want to edit and re-upload when my computer has PMS…**

…**I hope it didn't hear that…**

Bobby's eyes glowed scarlet _reflecting the light of the smoke, which pulsed suddenly an unnatural reddish hue. A blast of force followed, knocking Dean and Castiel to the ground._

"Balls!"

OO

Molly may have majored in physics, but as a Satanist she was a strong believer in Magic, which she, in fact, had at one point employed to seduce her thesis advisor. But it was the ritualized, emotional sort of magic that she believed in… the kind specified in the Satanic Bible. She didn't hold with the map-burning bird-entrails type of spells. She sneered at the concept of White Magic.

Which is why, when she followed the advice of the obnoxious little Fairy Fest witch and _performed _the location spell, she very nearly hurled in disgust when it _succeeded._

She poked the charred remains of the map gingerly, as if she expected it to sprout legs and start performing an Irish jig.

"The hell's this Kansas boy doing in Greece?" she murmured.

OO

"_Fifty-two _peaks," Sam breathed, his calf muscles tensing in anticipation. No, trepidation. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to check _fifty-two _peaks."

He spent the night in a random motel in Litochoro, hoping desperately that the gods would intercede on his behalf and he _wouldn't _have to cover Mt. Olympus.

OO

It had been a lot of trouble, conjuring up a visa and making it to Greece, but Molly had _done _it, and she was thrilled with her ingenuity as she hadn't been since she'd gotten grade school report cards.

She spread her arms, gleeful. "_I celebrate myself, and sing myself,_" she trilled. Walt Whitman. A passing Greek looked at her like she'd grown a second head.

"συγνώμη?" he said, inclining his head.

The feeling of euphoria faded as she realized she hadn't the slightest idea what he had said. She didn't know Greek. That was kind of a _huge_ oversight, now that she thought about it.

OO

Mantus, _the only loyal one,_ for reasons no one cared to think about, pulled Crowley aside by the elbow, and hissed into his ear. "There's a problem. A _severe_ problem. I felt you should be notified."

"What is it?" Crowley asked, teeth clenched together. He didn't like Mantus, and he _especially _didn't like Mantus's _hand _on his _arm_, but he didn't object; he had to keep the followers that he could. He certainly couldn't afford to make any more enemies.

"The soul imports. We believed that since Heaven hasn't been taking any more in, the previous distribution agreements were void, and we could take all the unclaimed souls floating about and bring them back here. Huge boost to the economy."

"_I know that,_" Crowley sighed. "_It was my idea._"

Mantus squeezed his arm reassuringly, and Crowley resisted the urge to clout him. "That's the problem. There _aren't_ any surplus souls, when there _should _be. Even our _rightful _souls are slipping through our fingers. They're all being taken somewhere, somewhere that isn't Heaven. Purgatory is still locked up. There's talk that it's you, bringing up a private soul-army to crush Damien. That's not the worst of it."

"Oh?" The kind of power required to pull the kind of trickery Mantus was talking about was phenomenal. Crowley was almost flattered he was the one being blamed.

"The others aren't buying your God story. They believe it's an engineered threat designed to scare them into complicity while you overrun Hell with human personnel. They think that you're planning on depriving them of their jobs… that you're outsourcing. Setting up a human intelligence network was the last straw. Mudgett wants you dead."

"I suppose Cain has been the most vocal with his doubts."

Mantus gave him a searching look. Something in it gave Crowley goosebumps, and not the good kind. "I don't think you realize… Cain and Damien are two peas in a pod. Cain is belligerent, we all know that, but he's also _calculating._ He's stirring everyone up _just enough_ to fool them into thinking Damien's solutions are _reasonable _by comparison. And his solution right now is to have you demoted, to the status of an imp, in fact. Your regime …"

"…Is as good as over."

"No." Mantus's smile was ghastly. It had something to do with the unseemly flush creeping along his neck, Crowley was certain. "It's in _danger_. Killing either Cain or Damien outright is bound to spark a revolt, but…"

OO

"_What _the _fuck_-"Dean gasped, on all fours. Castiel sprang up beside him, staring Bobby down like he thought he was Lee Van fucking Cleef. Bobby would have broken out into a cold sweat, if his current condition didn't render most biological functions unnecessary.

"What is going on?"

Bobby pointed vaguely towards the smoke. His eyes were dead, resigned. "That happens… when…"

Dean was on the alert now too, up on his feet and in a defensive position in a split second. "When _what?_" he asked, suspicion and horror only just beginning to manifest itself in his posture.

Bobby's mouth worked for a minute, opening and shutting soundlessly like a feeding goldfish. "_Balls!_" he repeated.

"_Bobby_…"

Holding Dean's wrist in a vice-like grip, Castiel began tugging. "We should run."

He didn't need to be told twice.

OO

A lot of gesticulating and wordless screaming had managed to secure Molly another map, and, since she was now in the vicinity of Mount Olympus, she felt it high time to try another spell…

…It was with great relief that she found the man at the desk of the motel was a Muslim. She could speak Arabic, at least. "هل رأيت هذا الرجل?" she asked, placing a photo of Sam Winchester on the desk. _Have you seen this man?_

The man hardly glanced at the photo when his face darkened. His bared teeth glowed pearly white in the dim lighting of the room. "لماذا كنت تريد أن تعرف?" he said severely. "أنت زوجته?" _Why do you want to know? Are you his wife? _He obviously didn't want any trouble, or to involve himself in a domestic dispute.

She smiled, and tossed her head back scornfully. _I am no one's wife, _she thought."انه مدين لي المال," she said. _He owes me money. _The lie dropped smoothly from her tongue; in Arabic it sounded almost like a litany… hypnotic.

The man appeared to be eased by her response, and his intimidating grimace softened into a friendly grin. He told her the room number, and she went to make herself at home.

OO

Sam _knew _that the Word had to be near Mount Olympus, he'd taken note of the sacred-mountain pattern and everything pointed _there_. But after three days of aimless roaming by day, and feverish research by night, he was beginning to feel discouraged.

_Would it kill you to give me some direction? _

On the evening of the fourth day, he trod wearily to his room, intending to get his things together and leave. The Word was obviously not anywhere nearby, and even if it was, he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. If God was concerned with saving the world, perhaps he could learn to accept that, but it was difficult when his attempts at saving lives _here _and _now _were continually thwarted.

He opened the door to his room and immediately flopped onto his bed, where he struggled to get his hiking boots off. It had been a long day.

"Hi."

A woman who looked half-dead stepped out from the niche in between the closet and the adjoining wall. She was in her mid to late twenties, he reasoned, her jeans were grimy and her eyes had purple, puffy bags underneath of them; she obviously hadn't slept in a few days. A spectacular whorl of red hair seemed to be trying to escape from her scalp.

Automatically, Sam's hands moved, pointing a shotgun level with her stomach. Firing wouldn't kill her, but it would hurt like hell.

"Hunter? Demon?" Sam asked, monotone. He was just so _tired_. Too tired to think, too tired to even care what this stranger was doing in what he thought was a _locked _room.

"Neither. I was sent by Crowley, though."

The oddness of the response caused Sam's eyebrows to knit together, and he lowered the shotgun. "Sit down," he said, glancing at the garish quilt on the bed opposing his.

OO

It was strange, but then again, everything was strange lately. The pulsing, color-changing smog seemed to _pursue_ them as they ran. Castiel had begun to tug Dean in the direction of the entrance they came through, but Dean resisted, Lucia's warning to _not look back _ringing in his ears.

And, contrary to all expectation, it _sang_. It sang _hymns_. It was terrifying.

Bobby kept on disappearing and reappearing, always a few meters ahead, waving his arm to urge them on. He seemed almost a will-o'-wisp, flickering in and out of sight, leading them, for all they knew, to a precipice. They followed him regardless.

Dean felt his knees were about to collapse under him when Castiel swerved to the right, seemingly straight into a stony wall. Instinctively, unthinkingly, Dean plunged in after him. Pure luck prevented him from banging his head as he sprinted into the narrow opening Castiel had passed through.

"We can't stay here long," Bobby said, his words a faint tickle in Dean's ear. There wasn't much room in the niche they had wedged themselves into; he and Castiel were pressed together, and where Bobby managed to fit in was a mystery. Or, Dean preferred to think of it that way. If he was breathing in ghost-Bobby, he didn't want to know. "It can seep in here any minute, and we'll have to move."

"What the _fuck _was that? Were we walking in a _monster_?" Dean asked, voice raising a few decibels. He also didn't like the idea of having wandered through the innards of a thinking creature.

Bobby gave a ghostly sigh. "No. That was _unity._"

"I believe an explanation is in order," Castiel intoned. Dean expressed his fervent agreement.

"I haven't been dead long," Bobby began. "Not _dead_ dead, anyway. Here."

He paused for a moment, just long enough for Dean to realize that he felt very _squished_, and become very aware that he was right up against another guy, they were breathing each other's air, _and probably Bobby…_

He thought about inhaling Bobby's cap, and choked a little.

"It's sort of like a gelatinous cube."

"That's a tad contradictory, Bobby," Dean squeaked, trying to breathe shallowly. "Didn't you say it _wasn't _a monster?"

"Shaddep, idjit. Anyway, near as I can figure, the longer you're in the thing, the more likely you are to be absorbed into it. Spiritually, I mean. I think it's mostly made up of vengeful ghosts… sometimes, one or a few seem to materialize out of the mass, _individualize_ I guess you could say, and throw rocks at it until they're absorbed again. Damn useless thing to do, but still."

"You're part of it." Castiel's voice was cold, but his breath ghosted warm and damp around Dean's face. "That's what was off."

"A little," Bobby admitted. "I'm out of it most of the time, but lately… in it, more."

"And it turned red because you escaped. It's after you."

"It could be after any one of us!" Dean protested, but Bobby cut him off.

"No, he's right. It goes bonkers whenever something it's absorbed decides to leave."

Dean took a moment to digest that. "Well, glad to have you back, anyway. What was it singing?"

"The Litany of the Lamb of God," Castiel responded. "In… unison. Interesting."

"Sorry?"

"Meekness and forgiveness. Unity. The opposites of vengeance and discord. Do you understand?"

"Wrath?"

"Exactly."

Dean groaned.

"What are you idjits getting at?"

OO

Sam had remained utterly silent throughout Molly's entire story. When she finished, she flopped back onto the bed, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Huh," Sam said.

"Whaddaya mean, 'huh'?" she mumbled.

"What makes Crowley think I'll even tell you anything?" he said. He didn't mention that he was hoping _Crowley _would be the one to know what was really going on with God. "I'm on God's side, after all. Or He's on mine."

"Said you made an 'information for information' deal. The contract wasn't exactly specific."

Sam sighed. He should have seen that one coming. "Look, he can't take my soul. He can't send demons after me. All the monsters I know of want his head on a stick. What have I got to fear from backing out? You? You're not even a hunter."

One of her eyes popped open. "I could always poison you," she said. "It's not terribly difficult. And I know how to do some nasty magic."

Sam waved the shotgun around a little. "Please."

The eye shut again, and she burrowed into the covers. "He also mentioned something about hellhounds."

Always a loophole, wasn't there? "Fine," Sam said. "Okay. I'm dying to know what He's up to, anyway. I'll tell you what I know, and you're going to tell me whatever I ask. First, everything that _they _know, and whatever else I can think of. That's the deal, alright?"

"'M tired," she observed, yawning. "Sure."

OO

Bobby, ever the problem solver, came up with a plan as soon as Dean finished explaining about the Levels. He said he'd seen a tunnel up ahead that probably lead to the next Cornice, but that no one'd ever made it there before being absorbed - or reabsorbed, as the case may be – by the SingingUnitySmoke. (1) But, he said, the smoke always paused for a while to devour an escaped soul. The obvious solution then, was for Bobby to delay the smoke while they made it to safety.

"So you don't have to run faster than the bear, so to speak… you just have to run faster than me."

"We can't do that!"

"It's a good idea, Dean," Castiel said thoughtfully. "Likely the best one there is."

"Shut up! We can… we can make it... without leaving anyone behind."

"No," Bobby said. "We can't. It's either one of us or _all _of us. I'm already a part of it, anyway. It's like …getting drunk, in there. You forget yourself, and it… hurts, to be brought back, now that I think about it. I was afraid of it and ran away from it before, but I think now…" His voice begged understanding, but Dean was in short supply of it.

"Bobby..."

"Don't _Bobby _me. We're doing this, like it or not."

He continued to argue, but Castiel's hand rose to his chest, and with a firm push Dean was back in the sunlight. Then he was yanked forward, his feet having to fly over the ground to keep from falling as Castiel sprinted in the direction Bobby had indicated.

Dean wasn't able to look back, but he could imagine clearly what was going on: Bobby, standing like a freaking statue while the smoke converged around him, consuming him…

He ran, and he sobbed_._

OO

"Wait," Molly said, as Sam packed his duffle in the morning. To his surprise, she had woken up before him in spite of her lack of sleep, and to his annoyance, she used the time to work on _his _laptop. "I don't think you were wrong about the Word being here. There's a nautical museum in this town, but one of the exhibits, strangely enough, came from Mount Olympus."

He stopped packing and came over to peer at the monitor. "It's a _nautical _museum," he said doubtfully. "I've checked everywhere that was a likely place to put something originally on the mountain. That wasn't one of them.

"I actually only looked at the site because it's the only museum here, and I was bored. But see, here, look… says that anchor there was made out of stone hewn from the mountain. It even has writing on it."

"Huh," Sam said, nodding. His eyes were distant. "I have an idea... I think it would simplify the matter of finding the Word, to both Crowley's advantage and my own."

OO

Mantus shook his head. "Mudgett is making a lot of noise about wanting his intelligence back on the job, but no one's going to be happy to find they're operating under the orders of a _human_. You understand, this is exactly the kind of move that will jeopardize your position. It doesn't solve the soul problem, either."

Sometimes Crowley hated being King of Hell. It often felt rather like he was the nurse of a group of particularly nasty children.

OO

There was a tunnel, but there was no exit. The tunnel was a dead end, an extended cave. For some reason, though, the smoke never followed them in. On the wall there was another drawing, done in what seemed to be white chalk to make it visible in the dark, but it was incomprehensible and there was no writing underneath so Dean just kicked it, again, and again, and again. Castiel hovered behind him, unsure of what to do.

"He was a good man," he volunteered, when Dean gave up on abusing his foot and sat down heavily, silent but shaking. He tried to be comforting.

"Don't talk to me. You piss me off."

"You're… angry," Castiel said. He wasn't sure about his diagnosis, but he could feel waves of negative rolling towards him.

"I _am _angry. I'm angry because you didn't do a _damn thing_ to stop this. '_It's a good idea'_? Really? If we just had… had more _time_, we could've come up with another plan. Any plan. But you… you _shove _me out there, and you leave Bobby…"

"There wasn't any other plan, Dean. Not one that would have worked. Not one that would have let everyone escape."

"So you're just _so damn logical _that you find it easy to leave a friend behind, don't you?"

Castiel looked at his hands.

"_Don't you?_"

"**Yes.**" And that was the scary thing, wasn't it? When push came to shove, he had no scruples about sending people to die, or hurting others. It hurt him afterwards, but he kept on _doing _it, because whenever he fought he did it to _win._

_ I wish I didn't have to fight, _he thought, for the millionth time. _I wish I could allow someone else to take the responsibility._

"I hate you," Dean whispered, turning his back.

And all of the sadness in Castiel turned into a vat of bubbling acid.

OO

"_I __**have**__ to find it easy, Dean,"_ Castiel growled. He was vaguely aware he had the man pinned to the wall, but he couldn't remember how it happened. "_I __**have **__to find it easy, because if I hesitate, if I don't make the decision, then everything is lost. __**This isn't wanton cruelty**__. You would have been lost if Bobby didn't make his sacrifice. How __**dare **__you disrespect what he did?"_

Dean's eyes were wide for a moment, but he seemed to remember himself, shoving Castiel back. The angel wasn't as strong as he used to be. "I'm not. But don't pin this on me, Cas. Did you even _think _this could have played out a different way? _I _could have stayed behind. Did you think of _that?_"

Castiel's silence was answer enough. "I didn't think so."

Then he was punched in the face. "Stop blaming me for not letting you kill yourself," Castiel said simply. Dean waited a moment, recovering, before tackling him, bringing him down to the ground, hard.

"So it's okay to let Bobby kill himself? Is that it?" He pressed a knee to Castiel's sternum, and tried not to think of how uncanny it was that he was overpowering an angel of the Lord.

"He'd already become a part of it. You heard what he said. If not… I would have stayed behind. Does that satisfy you?"

"No, it doesn't! At all! Why the _hell _do you keep doing things like this?"

Including himself. He'd tried to get to it several times before.

**A/N: Don't dine and dash! I would love to hear from all of the wonderful, kind and amazing people who, for reasons unknown, are still reading this story! I love you all! You're like singing kittens and penguins covered with chocolate. That cool.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This is the chapter where the author decides that CANON DOESN'T EXIST BWAHAHAHA, so Chuck isn't God, God is a dick, and the tablets don't close Hell or Heaven (give me a break, I started writing this over hellatus). I feel guilty for liking Crowley's scenes more than anyone else's, because honestly the story was originally supposed to be mostly Dean and Castiel, but Sam went and got himself a badass storyline and well, things changed.**

** Lots of dialogue this chapter. It's short, and the quality is, well… but point is, I do plan on finishing it. Yay! (Boo)**

_"No, it doesn't! At all! Why the _hell_ do you keep doing things like this?"_

They stopped talking pretty quickly after that. They were too busy punching the living daylights out of each other, too busy stubbornly trying to establish dominance and prove that they were _right, _when they both knew there was nothing right about the situation at all. Nothing could ever make it right. And after a while, even the blows fell off, Castiel too worn and unwilling to fight back, Dean sobbing too hard to lift his shaking fist. It was always so much worse when the anger wore off, he thought. It was like being flayed alive.

"Goddamn it, Cas. Fuck. _Fuck. _Why." Dean collapsed onto his knees, hid his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up. You need to stop. You need to… god, you're bleeding all over the place. I'm so—fuck, fuck. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of it."

"I'm alright."

"Don't do that, don't you dare say that. God, Bobby, he's, he's gone for good, isn't he? No Heaven, even. "

Castiel didn't answer.

"Couldn't we have saved him?"

Still nothing.

"I wish it were me, Cas. I can't take this. I keep thinking, next time it'll be easier, it won't hurt as much. But. Every goddamn time."

"Dean, if there were any way I could…" How could he say it? How could anything he had to say help when he'd never cared about Bobby the way Dean had? He would only make it worse.

"I know." Dean's voice was strained. "I just… let's sit for a minute, okay?"

So they sat together in silence, and Castiel didn't comment when Dean clutched his arm like a drowning man, didn't say a word when he noticed how badly the hunter's shoulders were shaking.

OO

"Um," Chuck said, running a nervous hand through his hair. "I couldn't help but notice. That there are, um, t-there are a few more people here than usual."

God turned His powerful gaze unto the stuttering prophet, who blanched. "It is necessary that these things come to pass," He said, not unkindly. "You know this."

"S-see here, that's the thing, I've been trying to tell you. W-when I had that vision, I mean, I was r_eaaaaally _drunk at the time, s-so I only remember bits and pieces. Um." He coughed, and scratched his arm. "_One _piece, really. So, um, seeing as you've abducted me from Earth and all, you could… tell me what's going on?"

"I shall yet reveal many great and important things pertaining to the kingdom of men," God said mysteriously, and disappeared.

Chuck sighed. "Well, _that_ went well," he muttered. Worriedly, he squinted at the growing masses of souls gathering by the banks of the Lethe. "This can't be good. If only I knew how to get back… I'm sure Sam and Dean would know what to do."

OO

"I don't know what to do," Sam groaned, pitching himself into the motel bed. Molly peered at him noncommittally over her cup of coffee. In spite of Sam's best efforts, she wouldn't get a room of her own, because she "couldn't afford it," and there was "a perfectly good bed right there."

"Hit the books again?" she shrugged and sipped some more of her coffee, looking irritatingly blissful. Sam glared.

"How on earth do you drink so many of those, anyway? And sleep?"

Molly tapped the side of the Styrofoam. "It's decaf. Win-win."

"Can't you use some Satanic spell to help look? That's how you found me, right?"

She shifted uncomfortably, unpleasant memories of Fairy Fest cropping up unbidden. "Well, not exactly. And I wouldn't. I'm here to watch you and report to the Boss Man, King Turdface. And then report back to you. Not get _involved_ in whatever crazy dealings you're tangled up with. I want to stay alive, thank you very much."

"Helping locate a tablet isn't going to kill you, you know."

"Baby steps."

Sam sighed, massaging his forehead as if he could squish some ideas out of his brain if he just rubbed _hard_ enough. "All I have is this one thing, this sacred mountain pattern. It's not even helpful because, at some point or other, e_very _mountain's been considered sacred by at least one tribe or sect. I can't figure out which mountains to search. I can't find any other signs or omens to link them together. Crowley's entire demon army can't find a damn clue, or I'm assuming so, since he won't contact us. Sometimes… I've wondered lately whether or not it's all a wild goose chase. You know?"

Molly stared at him evenly. "Have you considered trying Candy Mountain?"

"You are…"

"Hilarious. Yep. C'mon, Charlie. Take a nap or something before you give yourself a hernia."

OO

God congratulated Himself. He had created the world's greatest Easter Egg Hunt. Granted, there was only one participant, and there weren't really any goodies in the eggs that He hid, but it proved an excellent distraction for the new Prophet, a game that ate up all of his attention and brainpower, which might otherwise have turned towards more dangerous pursuits. Which might have noticed the strange things that had been happening worldwide over the past few months.

But there was a hiccup in the plan. The Prophet had found all of the easy eggs, and was getting discouraged. Before long, he might start asking questions, or use that infernal blood ritual he'd been given. That Dean Winchester needed to stay where he was, was an unfortunate necessity.

A personal appearance was imperative. But He needn't be too obvious. At least the demon was no longer a threat.

OO

Crowley had lost control of his forces. It was galling, that it had happened so quickly. They were following his orders one day, albeit reluctantly. Then… they weren't. Poof, and suddenly Damien was pulling all of the strings. It pissed Crowley off royally; _he _was the wiliest demon in Hell, and this upstart, this _novice _(he forgot Damien was a good five centuries older than him) was causing problems when they all had a bloody huge pile of Godly shit on their plates. Why did demons have to be so _brainless_?

"You should have listened to me," Mantus said, voice too soft, when Crowley started packing his bags in preparation to flee.

"No, I _shouldn't_ have, you dimwitted snail. Threats, really? I can't pretend to have an arsenal when I _don't have an arsenal_! They know perfectly well what's going on, where the souls have to be going. But the idiots think they can deal with it better themselves. Fine. I'll just remove myself until they're done slitting their throats."

"You don't mean that."

"I bloody well do." Crowley looked back at his follower, and grinned. "I hate demons. I often fantasize about putting t_hem _on the racks, because the humans? They're smarter. And you, my friend." He chuckled. "_You. _I've wanted to kill you since the day I met you."

Pulling out his acquired angel sword, Crowley stabbed him in the gut, making a pleased grunt when Mantus gurgled out his dying scream.

"Right," he said, straightening his coat. Hefting up his suitcase, he looked over his office wistfully, one last time. "I believe that's everything."

OO

"Listen," Dean said, coughing uncomfortably. He couldn't believe himself; he'd gone from beating Castiel to a bloody pulp, to crying himself to sleep on the dude's shoulder. It was all kinds of messed up. _He _was all kinds of messed up. "You're, um. You didn't have to just sit there all night."

Castiel just gave him a faintly bemused look, so Dean decided to drop it. He stood up, stretched awkwardly. "We really need to get out of here. I don't think we've been stuck anywhere this long."

"Yes."

Something in his tone caught Dean's attention, and he turned to look at his friend more closely. His eyes widened. "You. You haven't healed yet."

Castiel touched the side of his face absently. It was heavily bruised. "It appears that way, yes."

Dean tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and almost choked. It was like trying to swallow an orange whole. "Were you planning on_ telling_ me about your angel battery dying?"

Once again, at the mention of his failing powers Castiel winced "Perhaps, if the occasion arose. We've been _busy_, Dean."

"You don't understand. If I'd known… I wouldn'tve… things like that are kind of important, Cas!"

"Wouldn't have what?" With some difficulty, Dean met his eyes again, finding to his horror some lingering fury behind them. "Dean."

Faintly. "Yes."

"I need you to stop. Stop feeling guilty. I can't… handle any more guilt. There's too much."

Dean sat back down, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as his hand ghosted over Cas' bruised forearm. "I know. I get that, but Cas, you've got to understand that I've already forgiven you for—"

Castiel laughed bitterly, cutting him off. "You're missing the point, Dean. _Again_. It wasn't just betraying you, breaking Sam… that's already unforgivable. But I killed so many, on Earth, in Heaven—"

"You think I don't _know_ that? I've heard this from you already, Cas. I heard it on the fucking news when you went psychotic. I heard it from that bitch of an angel who tried to stab you in the cabin. I _get _it, alright?!"

"Then how can you say—"

"Because you're _you_, Cas. You're not hopped-up on Purgatory souls anymore and, and you're _good_."

Castiel shook his head, sadly. "I think I would have done it anyway. I was so angry."

"Cas. Cas, look at me."

Castiel looked, and the steely glint in Dean's eye was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

"You're asking me to stop feeling guilty. So okay. What I can't wrap my head around is the fact that you expect me to do that and let you wallow in your own guilt party. That's just not happening."

"It's not the sa—"

"Bullshit. Bullshit. I, I beat you up last night, Cas, and I'm kind of wondering why you seem not to care—"

"You're forgetting that I 'beat you up' as well—"

"Shut up, Cas. I've done so much other crap to you too, and I've said things to Sam when I was angry that I, that I wish I never said, I've killed things that didn't deserve killing, and I—"

"Dean."

"When I went to Hell, I tortured souls. And I liked it. So don't you _dare_ start spouting shit about your sins being unforgivable or whatever. Then what am I supposed to do with myself?"

Castiel stared at him, mouth agape. Was this something else he ruined? Dean's ability to forgive himself for something that had been imposed on him from without?

Dean had turned away, staring into the darkness that was the end of the cave. His shoulders were tense, frustrated.

"You know," he said quietly, only turning a fraction towards Castiel. He laughed, too loudly. "I bet if we just kept walking, we could walk right out of this place. Else we're just gonna rot here. Whaddaya say? Will you come with?"

Despite himself, and the fact that it kind of hurt to do so, Castiel allowed himself a small smile. "Of course. Let's go."

A while after they had totally immersed themselves in the darkness, a P vanished from Castiel's forehead. Neither of them noticed. They didn't remember walking so far to get to the dead end.

OO

God came calling some time after Molly left on a coffee run. Sam did a spit-take.

"You have ceased in your search for the tablets. This is not acceptable."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I haven't ceased. Maybe I would be quicker though, if I had any clue what I was doing."

"You know what this is for. It's a crucial task that has been set before you, Prophet, and there are dire consequences to not carrying it out."

"Yeah, see, I'm not so sure I know what this is for. Not really. I mean, you're big into laissez-faire, aren't you? So why the hell are you keeping me from doing my job? Why are you interfering with the demons? See, I heard about that."

"You cannot be distracted from your mission."

"No. Something's not right, and I intend to find out what it is." Sam looked directly into God's eyes, and He marveled at the human for his bravery.

The motel room door creaked open.

"Uh, are you talking to yourself again, Charlie, or am I interrupting… oh shit."

The full force of Kevin Tran's now golden eyes were focused completely on Molly. She dropped her coffee. "Who… who…"

"God." Sam said, snappish, and God's eyes lifted from the girl. She collapsed, falling backwards onto her rear.

"A Satanist," Go d said meditatively. Sam grunted. "Your search for the tablets will become easier once you realize that not all tablets are located in this world, or this time," God said, turning back to Sam.

Molly only stood up shakily after he disappeared, straightening her shirt like she hadn't just fallen to the floor terrified after meeting the most powerful Being… ever. It was no big deal. Really. She could get through this.

"Uh, was it just me or was he suggesting like, parallel universes and... time travel?"

"It's nothing I haven't done before."


End file.
